Harry Potter and the Pale Horseman
by alexandertheII
Summary: There is not much Death cares about, but the Natural Order is perhaps the most important thing to him. Tom Riddle violates the Natural Order of Life and Death. But Death is cunning, and so he gives Harry three choices: Stay dead, go on or go back. What else could Harry choose but to go back when there's people to save? Got tired of being bashy, changing that. Still HHr, though.
1. Chapter 1: The Pale Horseman

**Chapter 1: The Pale Horseman**

"Harry Potter," he said very softly. His voice might have been part of the spitting fire. "The Boy-Who-Lived." None of the Death Eaters moved. They were waiting: Everything was waiting. Hagrid was struggling, and Bellatrix was panting, and Harry thought inexplicably of Ginny, and her blazing look, and the feel of her lips on his — Voldemort had raised his wand. His head was still tilted to one side, like a curious child, wondering what would happen if he proceeded. Harry looked back into the red eyes, and wanted it to happen now, quickly, while he could still stand, before he lost control, before he betrayed fear — He saw the mouth move and a flash of green light, and everything was gone.

OOOOOOOO

Harry awoke on cold floor, the worn linoleum smelling a little iffy to his nose.

"_Wait a second… Cold floor, iffy linoleum floor," _he thought, thoroughly confused by this afterlife he was now in. Through his confusion, something else struck him as weird: He was naked as the day he was born. At least, that was that he assumed he had been born like. The moment he realized his rather embarrassing state, a smart pinstripe suit manifested itself around his body, including tie, slippers and even some rather nice cufflinks.

Harry stood up, feeling lighter than ever before, as if a great weight had been lifted from him. Just as he had started to get his bearings, his admittedly muddy thoughts were interrupted by the first sound he had heard since being struck by the killing curse.

"Join me, Harry," he heard a measured, oddly cold and yet polite voice say. It came from a central table in what Harry now believed to be the stereotypical American diner.

"_Huh, the afterlife is a diner," _he thought as he approached the man sitting at that particular table with his back to Harry, cutting what was obviously pizza.

"Sit, eat!" the man intoned, his voice still measured, but now with a distinct tone of order to it.

Thinking it best to comply, Harry rounded the table to get a good look at the mysterious stranger who seemed so unfazed by everything that was going on. The man had a gaunt face, combed back, dark grey hair over a receding hairline and a look of such disinterested indifference it was very disconcerting. He was dressed in an impeccable dark suit, with a coat slung over the backrest of his chair. It was immediately discernible where Harry's clothes came from.

"Who… Who are you?" Harry asked the first question that came to mind.

"Oh, I have many names, so many I don't even remember them all. The Egyptians used to call me Osiris; the Greeks preferred Thanatos or Hades and to some I am the Pale Horseman. Does this answer your question?" he explained and looked at Harry expectantly. The young man could only nod slowly, before taking a hard gulp. He knew all of these names, as he now knew who he was sitting in front of.

"You're… Death?" he asked, only to be pinned down with a hard, emotionless stare.

"Oh yes. You might ask yourself, why do I bother with you? After all, in the grand scale of things you are rather insignificant, are you not? One tiny little being, on one tiny little planet in a solar system so very unimportant, how would you be of any interest to me?" Receiving a small nod from Harry, he continued, "Well, you see. I am currently find myself unable to take care of some things that must be done, as I am trapped in some backwards village in what you call the United States; only on this plane of existence, between life and death, can I speak to you."

Harry could only stare at the strange man, Death, as he called himself. He cut off another piece of the thick, cheesy pizza, pushed it towards Harry and indicated for him to eat.

"The natural order has been damaged," Death stated bluntly, showing the first real emotion Harry had seen from him, and it was slight anger. "The one you call Riddle has mutilated his soul and escaped Death. He is even less than a bratty child, a bacterium, throwing a temper tantrum because his daddy didn't love him. And this thing managed to cheat me? The soul is to be whole, and when life ends, it ends."

Still, Harry could only stare in confusion at who he now understood to be a primordial force. There from the beginning of time up until the bitter end. Suddenly, his gaze was drawn towards a ring on Death's finger adorned with a single, white stone. Harry had seen and felt enough magic to know that this was way beyond anything he had ever experienced or imagined.

"I have, what you could call a leash around my neck, so I cannot take care of him on my own. Therefore, I propose a bargain: You will be able to go back, as much is certain even without our little trade, or you could go on; it might be the easiest way out for you."

The young man started to have an idea there was to be a third option and could not help but ask, "I guess there is a third option?"

"You will go back in time to a point, where you can put the natural order back better, follow fate in a better way, name it what you will. You could prevent a great number of deaths that went against the natural order, as they were premature," Death answered brusquely.

Inside Harry, a battle was waging that was in no way smaller than what had occurred on the Hogwarts grounds. His sense of duty, his willingness to protect was clashing with his weariness, with how tired he felt, tired of suffering, tired of being fate's play ball. In the end, only his 'saving-people thing' could win out and he gave a pained nod.

"Very well, some advice for the way then: Do take care to actually make the hard decisions this time around, would you. Also, beware the two youngest redheads and their mother; she seems quite fond of mind-altering potions."

Harry was now getting angry, how dare this guy imply Ginny and Mrs. Weasley in something like this.

"If you mean that…" he started angrily only to be interrupted by Death snipping his fingers. In an instant, Harry was lucid.

"Still have something to say?" the still annoyingly calm Death opposite of him asked. "You might not even be the only one, if you catch my meaning. Now, last advice: Think before you act, do not trust the old meddler, a visit to your local bank, alone, is always helpful, look into your pocket when you arrive and, if you have the time, visit Chicago. The pizza is delicious."

And before Harry could utter one more word, everything around him faded into nothingness again.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hello AO3,

I was thinking I would put this up here as well and worked over all the chapters I have previously posted on FFN. Whether I will include any smut in this story, I haven't decided, but if I do, it will only appear here.

Hope you like it,

alexandertheII


	2. Chapter 2: Back to the Past

**Chapter 2: Back to the Past**

Harry awoke on what felt like the next morning on an extremely uncomfortable mattress. Staring up at the ceiling of the second bedroom in Privet Drive, he was brought out of his reverie by an indignant shriek. In the corner of his room, perfectly alive and obviously miffed about not being greeted immediately by her _new _owner was his beautiful owl.

"Hedwig," Harry pressed out in a low gasp and dashed towards the very surprised owl. Of course, he knew that this bird had been there when he had 'fallen asleep' the previous evening, but this other Harry had terribly missed his faithful companion, his most intelligent of all the owls out there. When she had died in the old timeline, he had been too ashamed to really grieve for her, after Mad-Eye had fallen it seemed so silly to be mourning a 'mere pet'.

Now there was no such thing holding him back, and even though Hedwig seemed a little disturbed, she had never been known for refusing either attention or ministrations in form of petting. As she was currently receiving both, she looked at Harry in what passed for a contented smile in an owl.

Looking down at himself, Harry tried to determine _when _he was, before he was taken aback at the ridiculous notion of having to ask that question in the first place. Skinny, small, overly large clothes. Nothing to find out when he was, although it could not be later than the summer before third year, otherwise he would be at least somewhat taller. There was his school trunk, so it was before his first year; he was 11-year-old Harry Potter again. As for the date, the calendar on the wall with neatly crossed out dates told him it was the 24th of August, around a week before Hogwarts. It seemed like the 'Natural Order' had been disturbed very early, if the point in time was any indication.

Suddenly he remembered what Death had said about The Weasleys, about Ron and Ginny. "Ginny." Saying the name out loud left behind a strange mixture of feelings. On one hand, he still longed to see her, longed for her familiarity and for the familiar feelings for her. On the other hand, those feelings felt distant and somehow muted now, like waking out of a dream or overcoming an obsession. All very weird indeed.

He decided to give it time, maybe that way his feelings would settle down somewhat. He was about to grab for some textbook out of sheer boredom when he realized something else; he was now a seventeen-year-old man, caught in the body of an eleven-year-old boy preparing to attend the first year of a school he had already spent six years at. He could admittedly have done a little better, but the content of the lessons was bound to be rather underwhelming for him, at least the first few years, before he could take electives.

"Huh Hedwig, what do you think?" he asked his owl and he could swear he got his answer in the form of an exasperated look that seemed to say, _'How should I know, I don't know the problem'_. He had done this a lot in the old timeline, just talking to Hedwig and then interpreting the owl's reactions any way he liked. It was fun, but it also provided a sounding board that was never judgemental or condescending, something many humans in his life did not really excel at.

He knew he had been carefully avoiding a topic Death had told him about: Ronald Weasley. Death had indicated he might not be the only one hit with some rather distasteful potion, something he still had trouble believing, and Death's words could only mean one other person: Hermione. Somehow, he had never really questioned the girl's relationship with Ron, if you could call it that. In retrospect, it did seem rather iffy for smart, ambitious, down-to-the-ground Hermione to helplessly fall for someone like Ron. Not that there was anything wrong with Ron, Harry quickly assured himself, although it seemed like only 'going through the motions'.

Harry felt a massive headache coming and had no idea if it was due to the difficulties of adjusting to his 'new' life or the soul-

"The soul fragment," he exclaimed, eliciting an indignant cry from Hedwig for startling her followed by her leaving through the window, probably to find some quieter place to sleep. The walk into the forest was so far away for Harry, he would not be able to believe it, had he not known it had just been a few hours for his consciousness. A few hours since he had made his peace, since he had been ready to die and since he had been looking forward to die, just a little.

It was painful to admit, but there it was. The moment it was clear he had to die, or at least it seemed like it, he had been relieved. All the pain, all the sorrow would end. There were his mother and father waiting for him, Sirius, Remus, Tonks and so many others. Now the only one of those he had around was Hedwig. He had even been looking forward to seeing Dumbledore even if his old headmaster would have to answer some hard questions, especially with Death's _'old meddler'_ comment.

With a deep breath, Harry tried to regain some semblance of control over his erratic thoughts, knowing full well the only thing that could calm him down right about now was one of Madam Pomfrey's calming draughts.

OOOOOOOO

Hermione Granger was giddy. She was so giddy, she was almost giggling. It was very much unlike her to be even _almost _giggling.

She just could not help herself; she was excited. In only a few short hours she would be sitting on the train, she would go to a new school where hopefully everyone was as interested in learning as she was. No more taunts, no more glares or cruel pranks. No, just other people like her, she was sure.

She had already read all her books cover to cover at least once, including those she had as light background reading. Her parents did not mind at all, they were just happy she occupied herself and was not taking up any of their oh-so precious time. The last rather sobering thought brought to her other reason why she was happy to go to Hogwarts: she was able to get away from her parents.

It was not that they disliked their daughter, Hermione knew that, but she was an attentive girl and could see quite well there was a barrier between her and her parents. It had always been there and had only grown stronger after Professor McGonagall's visit. This teacher, who Hermione immediately liked very much, had informed her and her parents about Hogwarts, the wizarding world and what Hermione was; a witch.

All in all, Hermione was one excited little witch.

With an unusual spring to her step she made her way from her upstairs bedroom down to the kitchen, where she found her parents reading dentistry journals and drinking tea. She slowly went towards her father and waited for him to finish the page to start talking.

"Father," she greeted him evenly. Horatio Granger looked up at his daughter without saying anything and just raised one brow slightly, signing for her to continue. Hermione, adept as she was at reading human faces by now, immediately caught it and continued, "Would it be possible to leave for King's Cross early? I don't want to be late…"

She was interrupted by her mother, Phyllis, "I will drive for 10:30. Was there more?"

"No mother. Thank you," Hermione closed the petty excuse of a conversation and went up to her room to once again read _'Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts'_. Yes, she was definitely looking forward to conversations with some actual human beings.

Maybe _'Hogwarts, a History'_ would make for a good conversation starter.

OOOOOOOO

In a car outbound out of Surrey, Harry was on edge. His state of mind was not so much rooted in his anxiousness about what he would find, but far more in if what he had found the last time was the truth. Starting to question everything you know would be difficult for just about everyone, so it came as no surprise that Harry Potter was not faring any better than could be expected from the average seventeen-year-old.

Shortly after arriving in this time, he had already decided to at least give his suspicions about the Weasleys time to carefully simmer inside his mind. What he had come up with was neither pleasant nor particularly joy-inducing.

Firstly, the meeting at King's Cross seemed to be too much a coincidence by now, especially considering the fact that Mrs. Weasley, who by this point in time must have made dozens of trips there, would loudly ask for the track, let alone shout out her frustration with all the muggles around her.

Secondly, neither his nor Hermione's relationship with the youngest Weasleys seemed completely unsuspicious. While he was not completely sure about Hermione, he himself was by now convinced there had been some potion involved between him and Ginny. How much she knew Harry had no clue and he was still desperate for her to have been kept in the dark about the whole thing, but at this point he thought he was ready to accept nearly anything. Come to think of it, her infatuation with him had always bordered on pathological. Very worrying indeed, especially in hindsight when it was not overshadowed by the hilarity of her distracted antics.

His thought process was interrupted by his uncle pulling into the parking lot of the train station, bellowing for Harry to "make it quick". Just like last time he was 'escorted_'_ to the wall between platforms nine and ten, given a few nasty remarks and an even nastier smile and left alone.

However, this time around Harry was not a clueless eleven-year-old. Confidently he walked towards the wall between the two platforms and promptly found himself in front of the scarlet steam engine that was the Hogwarts Express. He had already decided to settle in a compartment early, ward the door with notice-me-not charms keyed to him and (hopefully) Hermione. Of course, it would only work if her magical signature was the same one he remembered from the countless times of raising wards around their campsites during the hunt for the Horcruxes.

Otherwise, it would be Plan B. He hated Plan B.

OOOOOOOO

Harry's future/past best friend was a little indignant. Although her mother had promised her she would be at the station by 10:30, it was almost ten minutes later that she actually got there and if they had been in a traffic jam, they should have just accounted for the possibility and started fifteen minutes earlier, at minimum.

They came by a large group of redheads so utterly abnormal they could only be magical, at least considering what Hermione remembered from her visit to Diagon Alley. They were just standing there, the portly woman who seemed to be the mother looking around probably searching something, the two boys who could only be twins, a boy and a little girl.

"_Strange bunch," _she thought, before continuing on her way.

Phyllis Granger was as unfazed as ever in light of her daughter's mood and simply stalked towards the wall between platforms nine and ten. With a rather stiff smile she looked at Hermione and started talking, "Enjoy your time at school, Hermione."

"I will. Thank you, mother," Hermione answered and unceremoniously went through the divider, even though she flinched slightly as the wall drew ever closer.

OOOOOOOO

Harry was settling into his compartment, nice and cosy behind his wards. After the last year he just could not feel safe without some added magical protection, so deeply ingrained had the instincts and tactics of survival become. He was monitoring the platform for any interesting developments, but so far he had just seen the same as the last time. There was Neville looking for his toad, Lee Jordan with his overly large pet spider and all the other chaos he had come to expect with large groups of wizards and witches.

About ten minutes before the scheduled departure something finally caught his eye; a large group of redheads entered the scene. Just like last time Ginny was crying and her family tried to soothe her. Except Percy of course, who had gone off to strut around with his prefect badge.

"Hey, next year you can go, too," one of the twins tried to soothe their sister.

"Yeah, and we'll send you tons of letters, maybe even a nice Hogwarts toilet seat…" the other twin finished off, followed by a glare from their mother which quickly made them flee, ostensibly to look at Lee's giant tarantula.

"And…" Ginny continued to sniff a little. "What about my Harry?"

"_My Harry?" _Harry thought to himself. Hearing that from a ten year-old-Ginny Weasley was rather disconcerting.

"Ron will look for him on the train, dear, then you can meet him next summer when he comes to visit," Mrs. Weasley continued to soothe her daughter while immediately cranking up Harry's concerns to new levels. How could she know he would be there next summer?

Harry put thinking this particular revelation off for some later date, because for now he had something else to concentrate on. He fished the parchment he had found in his pocket after returning out of his bag and began to review it.

_This ritual will allow one person, no more, to regain the memories they had on the old timeline up until the point you 'died'._

_Choose wisely._

The rather short note was for some reason signed with an hourglass and accompanied by another sheet of parchment with detailed instructions on how to proceed.

Harry needed help, he knew as much. What he also knew was that he needed a confidante, someone he could trust completely and without reserve, who never hurt him intentionally. That meant Hermione.

It was also the reason he hated Plan A as much as he hated Plan B.

OOOOOOOO

Hermione was looking for a toad. Some boy named Neville had come by her compartment earlier looking for his toad and immediately she knew that maybe he could be a friend. Also, she loved helping people with things.

She had canvassed almost half of the train when she came to a compartment with a single occupant. Said occupant was a small, skinny boy with raven-black hair and clothes that were obviously cast-offs. But more importantly, he seemed to be doing magic.

"Have you seen a toad? Some boy named Neville lost his earlier, I'm helping him search," she started the conversation, before quickly berating herself for her rudeness.

"_Damn Granger, next time introduce yourself first," _her sometimes surprisingly foul-mouthed inner voice chastised her.

"No, sorry. But it's nice of you to help him search. Do you want to join me for a quick break?" he invited her. His voice seemed honest, but she had experienced way too many times that it was not good to be too trusting of other children. Therefore, she carefully made her way into the compartment to sit across from the boy.

Before she could get anymore out, suddenly distracted by the boy's hypnotizing eyes, he started to talk again.

"I'm very sorry, Hermione. Stupefy!"

And she was out cold.

OOOOOOOO


	3. Chapter 3: Memento Mori

**Chapter 3: Memento Mori**

Harry cringed a little as he saw the red light of the stunner hit Hermione squarely in the chest. She slumped down on the bench unconscious and after a brief expression of shock her face turned so serene in her conscious mind's absence it was almost a shame to disturb her. Alas, he had work to do.

He started chanting incantations the moment he was sure Hermione was alright, both of them hidden away behind protective and secrecy wards that went way beyond what he had dared to throw up before, in case he could not correctly key her in. The wards were soon followed by a space extension charm that gave him enough room to work on the ritual.

It was not overly complicated even though Harry was sure Death himself had created it, what with the little reminder of the Natural Order in the end; Memento Mori, indeed. He set to work with his chalk to draw the required seven-pointed star and the ritual circle. Then he lay out the one single ingredient Death said he would need: Water from the river Mnemosyne, opposite and yet partner of Lethe. Remembrance and oblivion, two sides of the same coin, really.

Lastly, he carefully placed Hermione in the middle of the circle, gently lifting, lowering and carrying her. He could have used a levitation charm, of course, but this somehow felt better. He needed the reassurance she was really there.

His preparations done, Harry started the ritualistic incantations, "Corpus est fessus, sed animus recordari vult."

He moved towards the first point of the star and continued, "Ergo recorda!"

The next point. "Ergo recorda."

And the next. "Ergo recorda."

This he did until he had been at every point, said the command seven times. Now, he stepped into the ritual circle, the small phial with water already in hand. Harry took just a few drops of the liquid and dropped them on Hermione's forehead, carefully avoiding making her bushy brown hair wet. Why death had given him a whole phial he had no idea, considering it only took a few drops.

He took a step back and braced himself for the next part. He was not looking forward to this, another reason both Plan A and B had sucked to begin with. Still, however reluctant he might be, he had to finish the ritual or Hermione would never awake.

"Nunc expergisce et memento mori."

Immediately, Hermione started convulsing.

OOOOOOOO

Hermione's mind was a whirlwind of emotion, images, sounds and knowledge. Memories that were hers while at the same time being someone else's tore through the bits of consciousness she had left.

A redheaded boy…

A large serpent…

Something that looked like a toad on two legs…

A huge black dog…

And along everything this black-haired boy she had met earlier, although in some of the memories rushing through her he was considerably older.

"_Harry, his name is Harry,"_ her mind suddenly told her. It seemed correct somehow.

From that point forward things started to make more sense, started following a timeline of sorts. It all ended with Tom Riddle's taunts.

"Harry Potter is dead!"

OOOOOOOO

Hermione's convulsions really started to get to him. It was horrible to watch a person he cared about so much in so obvious pain. Her teeth were clenched and her body was rigid and covered in cold sweat, the eyes dancing around madly behind her lids. Just when it was getting too much for Harry and he wanted to avert his eyes he saw what he had been waiting for all along.

Chestnut brown eyes flew open, frantically searching the compartment for his green ones. As she found them, and with a grace and speed that belied the no-doubt strong aftereffects of her seizures, she rose from the floor and with a loud "Harry!" she was in his arms, sobbing. Harry waited for her, secretly enjoying getting another one of her hugs after he had already made peace with the idea of never being hugged again when he went into that forest.

Sometime later, Harry had no real idea how long it actually was, she loosened her grip a little, raised her face from his tear-stained shirt and looked up at him. "Harry, what is going on here?" she asked in such a small, un-Hermione like voice in nearly broke Harry's heart. And so, Harry told her about being killed, about his meeting with Death and about his choices. Apparently, Hermione had no problem determining what he would choose.

"Let me guess, your saving-people-thing made you take the going-back option?" He nodded in response and she continued her questioning, "Why were you in that forest Harry, why were you alone?"

This was it, the question he had expected but hoped nonetheless he would never have to answer. If the idea of having a piece of Riddle inside of him was revolting to him, what would Hermione think? Still, he owed her an explanation, more than anyone else.

"I was a Horcrux," he blurted out, like ripping of a Band-Aid. Hermione's eyes grew wide and for a moment Harry feared she might let go of him and flee the compartment. His fears were alleviated though, when the bushy head of hair only drew closer to him again and the girl in his arms all but squeezed the life out of him, accompanied by a muffled "Oh, Harry!"

"I thought I was gonna die, Hermione. And you know what? Dumbledore set me up to it, prepared me like a pig for slaughter," now it was Harry's turn to break down. It was never a good idea to show feelings around the Dursleys, but this was Hermione. With Hermione he could feel safe, with Hermione he could be himself and, as oddly as it seemed, mourn for himself.

Pressed against his chest Hermione was trying for something like soothing cooing, an endeavour in which she failed magnificently, but which still managed to calm him down somewhat. Just like with magic, it was about intent, after all. She managed to coax him into sharing more details, including the warnings Death had given him. He could literally watch the pondering going on inside her head from the way she was worrying on her lower lip and frowning. It was heartening to see some things never change.

"Well, I did see the Weasleys standing outside the station waiting for someone, combine that with what you overheard on the station it is mightily suspicious," she thought out loud with Harry nodding along fervently.

"I still don't know what to believe though. I don't wanna think badly about the Weasleys. Do you?" he asked and this time it was Hermione's turn to answer with head movements. She shook her head in response.

"Whatever happens, we should make some plans. I can write up a schedule."

"_Yes, some things never do change," _Harry thought with a light heart.

OOOOOOOO

The rest of their trip went very much as they remembered their last first train ride on the Express, with the exception that they could merrily laugh at the annoyed look of both Ronald and Malfoy, who repeatedly went by the compartment. Guessing what they wanted was not overly hard, but the advanced wards Hermione had added on top of Harry's were proving to be more than capable of deterring two overeager first-years.

As the train pulled into what the wizarding world called a train station, how very ignorant these people could be continued to amaze Hermione, they followed the other students along the path to the lake. Again, Harry was greeted by Hagrid, but this time he immediately introduced him to Hermione.

Despite the time they had spent there, the castle at night as seen from the lake was as magnificent as the first time that she had seen it and if his expression was anything to go by, Harry thought so too. The group of first-years followed first Hagrid then Professor McGonagall through the bowels of Hogwarts castle and into the antechamber Hermione remember from her original sorting. Only this time around she was a lot less nervous. What followed was the _'Your-house-is-your-family'_ talk, although the number of times their housemates had turned on Harry during the old timeline made that a little harder to believe. At least they were a little like the Dursley family in ostracising Harry.

Completing their good luck was that Harry had been able to evade both Malfoy and Ronald's attention long enough that his identity would not be known before the sorting. It was a short delay, a minimal reprieve really, but Hermione knew he was thankful for every second he was not the 'Boy-Who-Lived'_._ The ridiculous moniker and Harry's public image were actually important parts of the plans Hermione had drawn up with him. If only they could…

Her internal planning session was cut short by Professor McGonagall who bid the new students to follow her into the great hall.

OOOOOOOO

Harry followed the other students through the doors of the great hall. Other than the last time he was not overawed by the sight, but instead chose to meticulously watch the head table. He would have to look for more than one thing.

Firstly, the easiest way to determine, whether he was still an accidental horcrux was Quirrell. If the scar reacted to his presence the soul fragment was still there, if there was no reaction it was not. Harry and Hermione heartily hoped for the latter.

Secondly, Dumbledore was a target for observation. There were few people in Harry's life one could classify as 'the old meddler', actually only one. After hearing about what fate Dumbledore had planned for Harry, even Hermione had to admit something was fishy. The idea that he would manipulate Harry to kill himself shone a completely new light on the 'Greater Good' thing.

The students were lined up in front of the head table and the hat sang his song. Afterwards the sorting progressed pretty much as expected from the last timeline. The first thing that caught Harry's eye was Hermione's sorting.

"Granger, Hermione," she was called by her future/past favourite professor.

This time around, the hat took much longer to make a decision than the last time. At one point, Hermione blanched with impressive speed and Harry could easily identify her 'thinking face'.

"Seems like they have a lot to talk about," he mused shortly before the hat opened its, for lack of a better word, mouth again.

"GRYFFINDOR," it declared, and the hall broke into measured applause.

So, the sorting continued until, with a small shudder only an experienced student would ever come close to seeing in her, Professor Mc Gonagall reached the Ps on her list. Moving past Pansy, she looked at him.

"Potter, Harry," she beckoned.

With purposeful, measured steps Harry went to the stool, the whispering students in his back. He sat down and the professor put the hat on his head.

"_Oho, another one with knowledge of the future… don't deny, I see it's there. Normally I would debate where to put you, but you already have knowledge of your sorting and with your knowledge of it, it becomes official," _the hat explained inside Harry's head.

"_Okay. Then why am I still sitting here?" _he asked.

"_Oh, I have a few points I would like to raise with you. Be wary of Albus, especially with your knowledge of what is yet to happen, or might happen, now that you are here. It puts you in a better position to act than our esteemed headmaster. Alas, you know as well as I do that he thinks no one above himself or in a better position to act," _the hat continued, with Harry thought-nodding in response.

"_Therefore, a word of warning: Do not trust Albus Dumbledore, especially with your knowledge of what happened the last time. He will think of himself as the only one able to handle such knowledge and when he's done with you, you would be lucky to remember you're Harry Potter. Now let us finish this sorry business."_

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat declared for the whole hall to hear.

Afterwards, there was not much of note during the rest of the sorting until the last few students were reached.

"Weasley, Ronald," was herded onto the stool and the hat placed onto him. An unusually long time passed before the hat made its declaration.

"SLYTHERIN!"

OOOOOOOO

AN:

Because I've been asked about it, here's the translation of the ritual Harry used.

Corpus est fessus, sed animus recordari vult  
The body is weak, but the mind wishes to remember  
Ergo recorda!  
Therefore, remember!  
Nunc expergisce et memento mori

The first part just means, 'now, remember', while the second part comes from medieval monks' Latin and is (most likely) a shortening of the phrase 'memento moriendum esse' meaning 'consider, that you have to die'.


	4. Chapter 4: A Weasel in the Snake Pit

**Chapter 4: A Weasel in the Snake Pit **

"Weasley, Ronald," said boy was called and made his way towards the stern professor. He just knew she would make him work. He hated working for things. Ron sat down on the stool, eagerly waiting to shortly join his brothers at the Gryffindor table. And Harry Potter of course, his soon-to-be best friend.

"_Hmm, another Weasley. Interesting…" _he heard the voice of the hat in his mind.

"_Yeah yeah, don't remind me. Just put me in Gryffindor and I'll be out of here," _he admonished the stupid rag. Yes, _another _Weasley was at Hogwarts. In this Weasley's opinion, the best Weasley to date.

"_Oh, that is quite the ambition I see there, the 'best Weasley to date', huh. Befriend Harry Potter so you'll be somebody, very cunning. Alas, I don't think that will help you come into your own." _The hat deliberated for a while before he continued, _"You know, Albus wanted me to place you with Gryffindor, but that just seems wrong now, doesn't it."_

"_It's exactly right, you bloody rag. Gryffindor is the best house and I deserve the best," _Ronald stated with conviction, completely missing the mental frown he could so easily have picked up from the hat.

"_How rude. Oh, this sense of entitlement, cunning, ambition. You'll enjoy your time here, boy,"_ the hat thought back sarcastically enough even Ronald 'barely-enough-emotions-for-a-tea-spoon' could pick up on it. Did this stupid piece of cloth not know who he was, who his family was?

"SLYTHERIN!" the hat exclaimed, and Ron nearly missed it, distracted as he was with his inner ranting.

OOOOOOOO

Harry sat there at the Gryffindor table a little dumbfounded while the hat's words were still echoing through the great hall.

"SLYTHERIN!"

It seemed like this time around, the hat had its own ideas about the boy's character. On Ronald's face, he could see the beginnings of a Weasley temper tantrum and, for the first time that he could remember, Harry was looking forward to it; he was not disappointed.

"WHAT!" Ronald shouted, tearing the hat off his head. "You stupid rag, I'm no BLOODY SNAKE!"

And just like that, Ronald Weasley had managed to lose the minimal respect he had in his new house, as much was obvious. The decal and trim on his robes already showed his house colours, but apparently, he had other ideas about that.

"I demand to be resorted!" he said bluntly, looking at both the hat and McGonagall, only to receive no reaction from the former and a distasteful sneer from the latter.

"Mr. Weasley, rein in your temper, you will not speak to me with such disrespect! Detention, all through the week," she reprimanded the still rebellious student. "As for your sorting, once you have been given knowledge of your house, the sorting is irrevocable and unchangeable. You will either be a Slytherin or not at Hogwarts at all," she continued and stared down the still mutinous looking boy. "Have I made myself clear?" After giving the professor a nod that looked everything but repentant, he shuffled towards the Slytherin table in total silence.

That was certainly new, and Harry could not shake the feeling the hat had seen something in Harry and Hermione's memories that made this decision easier for him. Ron had never exactly seemed cunning before, but if you were really cunning, would you let people know that you are? The truly cunning thing to do would be to hide it and at least Ronald's strategic mind was there to see whenever he revelled in soundly beating someone in chess. Winning never got boring for the envious boy, especially against Harry. In retrospect, Harry could see this now. It was a way for Ronald to feel superior and another reason to be cautious around him.

The sorting continued and then ended with "Zabini, Blaise" once again sorted into Slytherin to applause from the whole school unlike any Slytherin had heard in a while. It seemed they could forget the house rivalries when confronted with something as distasteful as one Ronald Weasley.

Professor McGonagall made off with the hat and the stool, then the headmaster said something weird and then the feast could finally begin. Harry was a growing boy, after all; a growing boy who had just spent time with the Dursleys, nonetheless. He looked at Hermione who gave him an expression that said, "We'll talk later," and let her eyes flicker over to Neville. Harry understood; they had talked about this after all.

"Hi, I'm Harry Potter. You're Neville, right? Hermione met you on the train and said you were alright," he needlessly introduced himself to the boy sitting next to him. Said boy gaped a little and nodded eagerly.

"Yes, I am. Nice to meet you, Harry," Neville greeted back. During all of this, Neville's eyes never once gravitated towards Harry's scar. Even if he had not known Neville from the previous timeline, this would have made an immediate and very positive first impression.

"I'm sorry I bailed out on you, Neville. I just found Harry on the train and we knew each other. I sat with him and we forgot the time. Did you find your toad?" Hermione piped up. Harry knew her well enough to know she would feel guilty for abandoning Neville in his search, even though it was for a very, very good reason.

"Y-Yeah," Neville managed to stutter, seemingly overawed with the kindness shown to him. He had told Harry the last time around that he had been incredibly nervous coming to Hogwarts, what with not being sure whether he was a real wizard or not. His grandmother with her insistence on him using his father's wand and her constant criticizing was no help either. And so, they passed the time of the meal talking with Neville, 'meeting' the other first years and Sir Nicholas and generally having a good time. It was amazing how approachable they all were without Ronald around to ask everyone for their blood-status.

"_And maybe with a little confidence boost for Hermione and me, too. She sure tends to be a bit brusque when self-conscious. Me, I'm just not very outgoing," _Harry mused.

A few seats further, he could see Percy fuming about one of two things alternately, he guessed: Ron's inability to get sorted in the right house and the hat's inability to sort him into the right house. It was rather amusing to watch his glares shift from the Slytherin table to the head table and back to the Slytherins. He would bet there would be a Howler headed towards Hogwarts very soon; whether it would be for Ronald or the teachers, who knew.

Fully stuffed with a second helping of everything including dessert, Harry and Hermione were now waiting for Dumbledore's vaunted welcome speech. They did not have to wait long, for soon the venerable old headmaster rose from his throne to speak to the masses. In the past/future this had always impressed the hell out of Harry, but now, having learnt more about Dumbledore and his past it just struck him as a little suspicious for a headmaster to use the imagery of a ruler, a king.

"Ahem - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

This time Harry had no problem coming up with ideas why Dumbledore would look at the Weasley twins as he pronounced this. Still, the abject lack of sufficient disciplinary action when the perpetrators were known was a little disconcerting. Harry had no qualms to admit he had broken his fair share of rules during his first stint at Hogwarts, but most of the time he had had a genuine reason. At least what he thought was a genuine reason.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

And there it was: the bait. Looking back with a little more distance, it really was rather obvious. Barmy as Dumbledore was from time to time, he would never entrust the safety of something as precious as the Philosopher's stone to a few traps that could be overcome by a group of first years. Not with means like the Fidelius charm at hand. Or maybe he would, in his arrogance believing Voldemort could never break the mirror's enchantment.

"_That leaves only one conclusion for why the traps were there, you know?" _he remembered Hermione's voice from their discussion on the train. _"It's bait either for Voldemort or for you, possibly both. Don't you think it is a bit convenient that the year you return to Hogwarts Voldemort and a Philosopher's Stone should both be there?"_

It was no nice conclusion, Harry knew as much, but neither he nor Hermione had been able to reach another. At this point, the only thing that could make the whole story any more foolish was, if there actually were a stone involved.

Before they knew it, they were herded to the common room by Percy and the fifth-year girl prefect and soon the two found themselves in 'their'seats by the fireplace, where Harry surprised Hermione with a wide grin.

"Hermione, I looked at the back of Quirrell's head like five times and my scar didn't hurt once. You know what that means?" he asked merrily.

The crushing Hermione-hug was enough to answer that question.

OOOOOOOO

Ronald Weasley's evening was progressing far less nicely. With his family being anything but respected, a good portion of Slytherin house was already against him. Those members that were not particularly interested in pureblood supremacy or prepared to give him a chance despite his family being poor blood-traitors just because he was a pureblood, he had managed to alienate with his dirty snake comment. The glares he received all along the way to the common room were hostile in the least.

Said new Slytherin though, could not find any fault with himself, he was sure about that. The hat had simply acted out of spite or as a particularly cruel prank. They would all see what a courageous Gryffindor he was, and McGonagall would beg him to become a member of her house. Then, he would become Harry Potter's best friend, just like it should be. Not that he really had any plan on how to succeed with that idea; he assumed it would just happen. After all, how could people not see how great he was?

They had just been told the password to the common room (ambitio, it was Latin or something) and ambled into the common room when the door opened again and a rather glum looking, greasy-haired man in billowing black robes entered. The older students all stood alert and the first years scrambled to do the same. All of them, except one.

"Mr. Weasley, I see you lack attention and adaptability," he said with a perpetual sneer at the offending redhead. "I already had my doubts about a Weasley in my house; usually I am spared from that disgrace."

Ron was getting seriously pissed off now. How dare this overgrown bat ridicule his family?

"_Wait till my mother hears of this," _he thought, already with pleasant images of a cowed Snape apologizing to him before his mind's eye.

"Get yourself under control, you dunderhead and assume some posture worthy of this noble house," he was now barked at by Snape, joined with snickering from the listening Slytherins.

No, Ronald Weasley's evening was definitely not going well and it was about to get worse. He was meeting his new dorm-mates.

OOOOOOOO

Harry awoke in his bed in the Gryffindor dorm for the first time in what to him amounted to about a year. Of course, it was not really _his _bed, it was not even his dorm. Being one student short compared to the last time, the first-year boys were put into a different dorm room. Each of them now had a normal bed in a separate alcove, while the centre of the room was occupied by one single large table with a number of straight-backed chairs. The chairs looked suspiciously like the ones McGonagall always created. It would make for a great place to do homework.

Following his usual morning rituals, he made his way down to the common room where he met Hermione, already buried in a book.

"Good morning," he greeted her, immediately eliciting a sunny smile. "Might I ask why you're reading first year textbooks? You could easily take your NEWTs now," he continued, whispering into her ear, trying to ignore the warm feeling coursing to him at the close contact.

"Well of course, it wouldn't do to appear too advanced now, would it? We have to be able to pretend we're first years. Knowledgeable first years maybe, but still first years," came the whispered reply, again cause for a little shiver with Harry.

"You're right. But there's no chance I will ever take Divination again, I hate prophecies and Trelawney gives me the creeps," he answered, receiving an eager nod in response. "Anyway, breakfast?"

Without even an answer, at least verbally, Harry felt himself being dragged towards the portrait hole. Hell, even repeating her complete time in school seemed to have Hermione very motivated to learn.

"So, what are we gonna do now? I mean, we talked about the big stuff, but what about the details. How do we evade suspicion and so-forth?" Harry asked just as they were cutting through a secret corridor to get to the Great Hall faster. "How do we explain that we know the secret passages, for example?"

"Good point, so no more secret passages for at least a while," Hermione conceded. "This is going to be hard; I'm so used to cutting short."

"I know," Harry chuckled back.

Still amused, the two entered the rather empty Great Hall. Despite the early hour, Professor McGonagall was already there handing out timetables. When she saw her two new Gryffindors her features were graced by one of her small, far-in-between smiles. It seemed she approved of early risers. Not that Harry had ever been anything other than that; he just hadn't used that time properly before now.

"Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, I trust you have found everything quite well?" she greeted them both in her thick Scottish brogue.

"Thanks, Professor. And yes, we only got lost once," Hermione reported in such striking similarity to the actual eleven-year-old Hermione it was mind boggling.

"Very well, these are your timetables. Please see to it that you arrive on time."

With that, she handed out their timetables and went along to some of the other still sparse Gryffindors.

OOOOOOOO

Hermione, Harry and Neville, the two had taken the boy under their wing lest he get lost too badly, were sitting in Professor McGonagall's transfiguration classroom, amusedly eyeing the tabby cat with the square markings sitting on the professor's table.

They had all made an early appearance so as not to forgo the experience of seeing the inevitable late-comers running into the animagus trap. Just about everyone was there, with only one person notably absent and said person had red hair.

The moment the lesson was to begin McGonagall, to astonished gasps from about one third of the class, jumped from her table, transforming into her human form mid-jump.

"Good morning class. Before we do anything, I expect you to copy down the safety instructions on the first pages of your books while we wait for stragglers. Do I make myself clear?" Her gaze made it quite clear she expected to be obeyed. Quickly, she resumed her cat form and mad herself comfortable on her desk.

Ten minutes later, the class was busily scratching away with their quills and the professor, cat eyes ever watchfully patrolling, when a certain redhead wheezed his way into the classroom.

"Uuh, bloody lucky. Can you imagine what old McGonagall would have said if I'd been here after her?" he proclaimed loudly and at no one in particular, eliciting a few pained looks from some of the other Slytherins at his complete lack of anything even remotely resembling subtlety. His dumb grin vanished immediately as the cat on the desk set for a jump and transformed into the very professor, he had just called old while grinning like mad.

Hermione leant closer to Harry so as not to be heard above the stern reprimand their 'old' professor was currently giving Ronald. "I don't know what I was thinking kissing Ronald. Our first few years I just found him irritating, barely tolerated him because he was your friend. No idea what came over me…" she whispered almost angrily.

This had Harry thinking again about one of the items Death had talked to him about, namely love potions. Was it possible Hermione had actually been drugged? And if yes, by whom?

"_Well, that is rather easy to say. Either Ron or Mrs. Weasley, I know she is not above using a love potion, said so herself. And what about Ginny…"_ Harry mused. The whole rest of the lesson Harry could not help but continue to do so. In the end, he reached a rather disturbing conclusion.

He and Hermione were now sitting in the Room of Requirement at Harry's request. This time it was a nice cosy living room with only a couch, a big, fluffy rug and a fireplace. Harry drew a deep breath to steel his resolve, before he began speaking, his voice more confident than he felt.

"Hermione, I think I've been raped. And I think it's at least been tried with you as well."

OOOOOOOO


	5. Chapter 5: How to Dodge a Potion

**Chapter 5: How to Dodge a Potion**

For several minutes, there was only silence inside the room of requirement.

This silence was severely grating on Harry's nerves. Of course, he knew Hermione would never judge on the grounds of what he had told her of himself, about what he had insinuated happened with her. Still, there remained a slight panic; would she see him differently now? Would he now be a victim to her? And, as much as he honestly did not care about it, how manly was it for a guy to be 'raped'by an attractive girl?

"_Stop it, Potter. You were not in your right mind, your senses befuddled, of course that is rape. You were RAPED not _'raped'_, for Merlin's sake," _he chastised these annoying doubts crawling around inside his head.

Suddenly he found himself crushed inside the strongest Hermione-hug he had ever received in both timelines, even if it was from an eleven years old Hermione.

"Don't you dare and think this changes anything between us, you hear me, Potter?" he heard her muffled voice from somewhere around his chest. In that moment he realized, that this very hug, this show of emotional intimacy, was so much more pleasurable than what he had had with Ginny the night before Dumbledore's funeral.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he again heard Hermione's voice from somewhere down at his chest.

"_Good question," _he thought to himself. _"Do I want to talk?"_

"If you don't want to, you don't have to, of course. But I think it would help." Damn, did she know him well. Hermione had now moved her head away from Harry's chest and instead parked it on his shoulder, yet the hug was still as comfortingly close as before.

"It's okay, Hermione. I think I would like to talk, actually…" he surprised himself with how steady his voice sounded.

"But you don't know how to start?" she asked, receiving a sad nod in return. "That's fine, I'll ask then. Why don't you start with how you come to that conclusion?"

That was easy, that was something he could do.

"Well, of course I told you about Death and his warning about potions. I did not want to believe anything like that about Ginny at first, but from the moment I came back I've been feeling… I don't really know how to describe it," Harry told her silently, steadily. It really was rather hard to explain how he felt; returning from death to seven years earlier could do that to you. "Best I can come up with is different. There's just no more of the passion, of the obsession I had for Ginny. When I heard and saw Ron today, and you told me how he rubbed you wrong all those years I just remembered how annoyed I had always been by Ginny being a fangirl." He took a deep breath to order his thoughts a little before he continued, "Does that make at least a little sense?"

"It does actually, more than a little. Ginny always was disturbingly eager when you were concerned," Hermione answered him while thinking out loud. She had her 'thinking Hermione' out now, complete with frown and worrying of her lower lip. "Harry do you think you can train people with a love potion?"

"Lost me there, Hermione. Care to explain?" Harry answered in befuddlement.

"It's like this; there was this guy named Pavlov, and he did some experiments with dogs. He would ring a bell and then give them food. After he had done that for a while, ringing the bell was enough to provoke the reaction the dogs would normally only have for food. He measured the amount of saliva they produced, if I remember correctly…"

Harry shot her a questioning glance. He did not quite follow her reasoning, but if his logic was without major flaws, he had just been called a dog.

"What, I read it in a book on psychology over the break," Hermione defended herself. "And no, I do not think you are a dog, we have your godfather for that. No, what I mean is the following: If, by means of this potion, you are forced to have affectionate, obsessive feelings for someone long enough, then our mind would link feeling these feelings with things we associate with this person. It's a little like a placebo actually," she explained. "That would explain why you didn't snap out of it when we were hunting Horcruxes." 

Harry knew she deliberately emphasized the 'you', because she had not really taken in the possibility of her having received the same potions.

"_Well, now's as good a time as any," _he mused. "Hermione, what about you? What do you think, especially now that you've remembered how irritating you always found Ron?" Harry asked her gently. There was nothing gained in avoiding the topic, only pain and having to deal with it later, possibly when he was not available to comfort her.

"I… I don't know. Or maybe I do know, but just don't want to know. I never went _that _far with Ron," she pressed out and Harry could not stop the pulse of happiness that went through him at hearing that.

"But that doesn't make the thought any less disturbing. I think I got fed the same stuff as you, now that we've talked about it. We were talking about you though, and I just started rambling on…" she admitted shyly.

"No problem. Your rambling is always very soothing to me," Harry soothed her. She had been building up to another rant, this time how bad she was as a friend for either not noticing what was going on or for side-tracking their discussion; probably, even both.

She giggled a little in a very un-Hermione-like way then she gave a big sigh and snuggled closer to his body. "I don't really feel up to talking about this anymore at the moment. If you have to, I'll listen, but it's just all a bit much," she said in a despondent voice.

"That's okay, Hermione. It felt good to just talk about it, even a little. Even more important, how do we avoid something like this in the future?" he asked the now thoughtful witch snuggled into his side.

"I don't really know. There's tons of possibilities, but many of them have flaws, bigger or smaller," she replied a little dejectedly. Harry gave a nod, then he surprised Hermione by pulling out a roll of parchment from his bag and starting with a 'one' on the left side.

"Let's make a list," he proclaimed to a now thoroughly flabbergasted Hermione.

"_Oh yes, I do lists now, too," _he thought, amused by her shocked expression.

OOOOOOOO

Ronald Weasley was happy. Well, not really happy, but as close as it got since he had been sorted into Slytherin. At least he counted himself lucky after on the first morning no owl had dropped a howler on his breakfast and his tardiness in coming to transfiguration had 'only' earned him two detentions (although Ron was sure McGonagall was just angry that he was completely justified to call her old).

This feeling of general luckiness, right alongside his appetite, made a beeline for the door rather quickly when, on the second morning of him being a Slytherin, he saw a ruffled owl flying unsteadily towards his seat, a red envelope in claw. It seemed like his mother had only needed a little more time to refine the message.

With trembling hands, Ron took the scarlet letter from the owl and opened it.

"RONALD WEASLEY," he heard the magically intensified voice of his mother boom through the hall, followed by sniggers from about the whole student body. "HOW DARE YOU DISHONOUR YOUR FAMILY LIKE THAT? A SLYTHERIN? A WEASLEY IN SLYTHERIN? I EXPECT YOU TO PROVE YOURSELF WORTHY OF BEING RESORTED INTO GRYFFINDOR! HOW ASHAMED YOUR SIBLINGS MUST BE, ALL GRYFFINDORS AND NOW THAT! SHAME ON YOU!"

With that last remark the howler changed his focus from the now thoroughly red Ronald Weasley, to the completely blanched rest of the Weasley family sitting at the Gryffindor table. "Percy, again your father and I are so proud of you for making Prefect. Fred, George, you forgot a pair of underpants, I'll send them to you in the next few days."

Having finished his entire message, with both the twins and Percy now thoroughly reddened as well, the letter burst in flames, while the entirety of the great hall was trying to hold onto their meal from sheer laughter.

OOOOOOOO

"Do you think that means Fred and George share underpants?" Harry asked Hermione in a horrified voice. The idea was extremely disconcerting.

"Maybe…" Hermione mused, enjoying the utterly terrified expression on her friend's face. She would never be a great prankster, but this she could condone. Seeing he was still quite shaken at the thought, she decided to take pity on him.

"No, I don't think so. Actually, I think the twins are more different than most people see, or even try to see for that matter," she explained while discreetly pointing towards them. "Look, even now you can see it: The left one is the more outgoing of the two, he talks through his embarrassment, while the other one is rather reserved at the moment, he hides a little behind his brother's antics."

Hermione even knew which twin was which, she had figured that out in second year of the old timeline, but Neville was listening interestedly from where he sat across the table. It would not do to attract attention.

"I see what you mean," Harry conceded. It did not look like a hard task for him, as it allowed him to banish the thought of the twins sharing underwear.

"Merlin Hermione, how did you get so good at reading people," asked Neville with slight awe in his voice.

"I don't know, it's just something I can do," she answered him while trying to not look into his eyes. She knew very well why she was so good at this; years spent trying to read the subtle, almost non-existent things her parents called 'emotions'had taught her very well in that regard.

"_Wish I had known that the first time I was eleven, would have made a lot of things easier to deal with," _she mused as she continued with her fruit salad.

OOOOOOOO

That afternoon's session saw their first DADA lesson in the new timeline, of course with 'p-p-poor,

st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell'. Despite the fact that he was a stumbling, Voldemort-controlled mess he was actually not the worst teacher they had ever had in the subject. Considering others who taught it had been Umbridge and the liar Lockhart that was not much of a compliment, but he actually knew the subject matter and taught at least a little.

In Quirrell's lesson, they were yet again subjected to the talk of responsible use of magic, although why this particular teacher gave that talk, Harry could not fathom. Either Dumbledore had grown complacent over the years and not checked up on his new recruits anymore, or Voldemort had simply overestimated the scrutiny with which the headmaster guarded over his school's teachings.

The class was dealing with the basics of defensive magic, both against humans and creatures, while Harry and Hermione who had dealt with the subject so extensively, they could probably sit at least their OWLs at a moment's notice were working on their own little project.

In front of Harry was a list (in his own handwriting, nonetheless) of possible ways in which they could counteract attempts to dose him and Hermione with any potions. Up to this moment, all the possibilities were somewhat flawed.

"_Scarpin's revelaspell is out of the question, too suspicious for two first-years to use that," _he went through the list again. _"Same with detection spells. Regularly taking an antidote doesn't work either, considering the number of different potions available; also, we could develop unhealthy reactions to those, too. Regular flushing potions are just not my thing, and what if we're both hit at the same time, then we can't even dose the other with the potion to snap them out of it…"_

In front of the class, Quirrell was now demonstrating something with a large lizard.

"_What's with the man and reptiles anyway. Gotta be Voldemort shining through but using a snake would be too obvious a clue even for Dumbledore to ignore," _Harry's mind went astray, bored in mulling over the same thing yet again.

He was now intently taking in the rest of the DADA classroom, various diagrams of curses and counter-curses, pictures of dark creatures and many, many books. One of the pictures stood out from others in that it did not show a dark creature, but a kind of clay figure, the 'skin' filled with fascinating symbols.

"_That's it, runes," _he was overcome by a flash of wit which he had to immediately share with his best friend in the world. So, he wrote 'What about runes? Something on my glasses? You would look great with glasses too' on a used sheet of parchment and handed it to Hermione.

She immediately grinned at the first suggestion but started looking a little pensive at the last one. As Hermione shot him a questioning glance, he tried to go for what he thought was an encouraging smile and a happy nod.

Minutes later, the still subpar ramblings of Quirinus Quirrell had his thoughts drifting aimlessly again.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hello all,

Hope you enjoyed the new chapter and my solving of the potion-problem.

Leave a review please, thanks in advance,

alexandertheII


	6. Chapter 6: The Peculiar Effects of Latin

**Chapter 6: The Peculiar Effects of Latin**

Harry's idea of enchanting glasses to be able to spot possibly dangerous and/or mind-altering potions was immediately accepted by Hermione; the idea of her having those glasses as well was a harder sell.

"Come on, Hermione; It will look great on you," Harry tried to convince her for the umpteenth time.

"No, it won't. I'm already the bossy bookworm, I don't want to be 'four-eyes' too," came her now already automatic answer.

"I'll give you the bookworm, but the bossiness is way better than first year the last time, and all the people that matter know it's only because you want all of us to learn as much as possible," he continued his pitch in what he hoped was a tone of encouraging hilarity; her only answer was a huff.

"_Okay, time for a new approach. Best carrot for Hermione: learning stuff. Second best carrot for Hermione: keeping Harry safe," _he determined, deciding on a new approach.

"But Hermione, think of all the new things you could learn! You could even make loads of different models from this, seeing in the dark, infrared, all that stuff," Harry exclaimed enthusiastically. He could now see Hermione's armour of insecurity was weakening; time to go all in.

"And, what if I ever not notice I'm being fed something, or am unconscious and someone is giving me potions? You'd have to be able to spot that too, wouldn't you?" Harry could see he had her at that but decided to give her a bonus. "Maybe, along the line, we can even make contacts with the same enchantments, I'm sure they would sell like crazy."

At that, Hermione's enthusiasm for new things to make and learn could not be halted anymore; the prospect of exchanging the glasses for contacts later seemed to make even her last argument against the idea mute. Harry really hoped she would reconsider though, because he could not imagine Hermione looking bad with glasses; as a matter of fact, Harry thought with the right glasses she would look absolutely stunning.

It was their second first Friday at school, when their discussion had reached this state; this meant they would have their 'first' potions lesson after breakfast, for which they were currently heading to the great hall. Having future knowledge of Snape's mistreatment, while also knowing the kind of questions he would be asked, Harry was very much looking forward to embarrassing the overgrown bat. Although, eventually, he had found out Snape's true allegiance, his attitude was still not worthy of him being a teacher; add to that the major obsession the man had with his mother, combined with the ease with which he had condemned both him and his father to death if only Riddle would spare Lily Potter, it meant Harry was thoroughly put off by the man. Possibly even more so than at any time the last time around.

So, it was with a mix of apprehension and nervous excitement that he sat down next to Hermione for breakfast, debating what they wanted to do that day. Harry had received an invitation from Hagrid for tea that afternoon, and they were both definitely intending to go, but they were left in a quarrel as to how to deal with big, lovable, if blabbermouthed man.

"I say we go, become friends with him again and leave it at that; you know he idolises the man, so we can't tell him anything important. He would go straight to Dumbledore. I know it hurts, I like him too, but that's how it's got to be," Hermione laid out what they both knew already.

Harry did indeed not like it, but he knew Hermione was right. They had not been able to really come up with a plan regarding Hagrid, but both wanted him to be their friend, if only to prevent him from burning down his house with a pet dragon. However, he had no idea how to deal with the man's hero-worship of Dumbledore.

"I know, but it sucks," he agreed, only to be scowled at by his friend for the language used in expressing that same sentiment. Light chatter continued all through breakfast after their friends, of which Neville was becoming a particularly good one, had come to join them. Over their pleasant conversation. It was soon time to make their way to the dungeons.

All along the corridors, Harry was followed by the same, now-familiar stares, and the usual whispering. It had not abated since the sorting and he knew it wouldn't, at least not for quite some time. He could only hope that making more friends and being less unapproachable would curb some of the less than pleasant rumours.

In front of the classroom, the usual taunts were exchanged with the Slytherins, although Harry and Hermione both tried to hold back. Surprisingly, that was a position they shared with Malfoy, who instead chose to distract Ronald for them. It seemed like putting these two together in the same house had not done anything to curb their animosity; instead, it seemed like it had only served to make them hate each other even more. Their interactions were truly fascinating to watch.

Just as they remembered, Snape made his roll call followed by the pompous potions introduction speech, repeatedly insulting the whole of them as dunderheads as he went along the way.

"Potter!" he called Harry out. "What well-known potion would I get with ingredients such as lacewing flies, fluxweed and boomslang skin?"

Harry was elated. While it was not one of the questions, he had been asked the first time around, he knew this; he had been involved in brewing it once, after all. Still, Harry could not help but lead Snape around a little.

"It is a polyjuice potion, Sir, lacewing flies stewed 21 days, fluxweed gathered at full moon and boomslang skin shredded," he replied with all the respect he could muster for the despicable excuse for a human being teaching this class; asking a first year about a sixth year potion just to feel better about himself, really.

Snape only sneered at his answer, no doubt already explaining it as arrogance of the 'Potter brat'. He just continued his questioning, "What would I get when, to a draught of elderberry, I added powdered valerian root and peppermint oil?"

"A rather powerful remedy for lowering a fever, Professor," Harry answered, still valiantly trying to suppress the annoyance in his voice. He thought he was surprisingly successful, too.

Snape, obviously disconcerted he was getting nowhere, moved on to bully someone else, leaving Harry to ponder how he could get a decent potions education at Hogwarts. He knew Snape would not be the way to get that for either him or Hermione. His friend was great at following instructions out of the books, minutely so and good with saving potions that would otherwise have been ruined, but that was not all potions were about; Slughorn had taught them that. There was a lot of creativity and skill in combination involved in being a real potioneer. That was something 'instructions are on the board' just did not teach you. Hermione for her part always wanted to learn more, so she heartily agreed with him. That meant getting rid of Snape, or at the very least getting out from under his thumb.

They both did not bother with getting angry at Snape because both knew that at heart, he was a bitter and lonely man and the pain of his own miserable existence the cruellest punishment imaginable. Why someone like that should be teaching children was anyone's guess, though.

OOOOOOOO

The weeks in Hogwarts went by with little to note and soon it was October. However, counting in what constituted as 'normal' at Hogwarts, little to note still included taunting, small duels in the corridors and even the occasional student hurt during flying practice, only this time around it was not Neville, who had been under tutelage from Harry; instead, it was Malfoy who had managed to overcome the enchantments of the broom by posing around with too risky a manoeuvre.

Harry and Hermione's studies were going well, too. Hermione had finally agreed to wear glasses after another few days of prodding and encouragement by her Harry and they had landed on delicate, rectangular frames for her.

"_Wait, _my _Harry?" _Hermione interrupted her thoughts. It was true, she and Harry had spent a huge amount of time together and some feelings she had once suspected herself of having, were _maybe_ coming back, but he was _Harry_. Hermione and Harry, Harry and Hermione; that was not a couple, that was two thirds of the golden trio, or rather the new golden duo.

"_Get a grip on yourself, Granger!" _she chided herself, not exactly knowing what for; thinking she liked him or trying to talk herself out of it? Of course, there had been a few moments over the years where she thought maybe there was something between them. If she was honest with herself, it might have been as early as third year, rescuing Sirius with him, that she had liked Harry. Clinging to him on Buckbeak had been really, very comforting.

However, Hermione had always hidden these feelings away inside a small little box inside the depths of her consciousness, so sure was she Harry could never be interested in her like _that_. And with Ron in the picture and Harry, as usual, being so incredibly noble, not to forget emotionally completely underprepared by the upbringing he'd received, there had never really been a chance to explore a possible relationship. Mix in love potions and it was all very convoluted.

In the end, she could not deny the small shiver of pleasure always shooting through her when she heard Harry praise her, for whatever it was at that moment, looks and academics equally. Neither could she deny how proud she was of him for trying to take learning more seriously this time around, knowing what lay ahead of him. He would never say so out loud, or maybe he even would, but one of Harry's main motivations was to keep the people close to him safe. At the moment, that did not include terribly many people.

Yes, this was another thing she had to put on her list of things to do better this time. No ridiculous pining after Ron (naturally or artificially created) and explore these funny feelings Harry could conjure up inside of her. It would probably be up to her to bring it up though; Harry was just not the type to do this kind of exploring uninvited.

OOOOOOOO

It was during one of their ever-more frequent sittings in the Room of Requirement, currently working on the rune scheme for the glasses, while Hermione was introducing Harry to the ropes of the subject that she could no longer keep a hold on herself.

He had taken to Ancient Runes on a nearly instinctual level and by mid-October had breezed through the Nordic and Anglo-Saxon alphabets of Futhark and Futhorc, but his real interest and skill lay with ancient Greek and Phoenician symbols. It was fascinating to watch how a boy who had generally shown only remote interest in schoolwork after his first three years at Hogwarts, probably due to one Ronald's influence, took so much interest in this highly complex subject. And, again it did funny things to Hermione.

This time though, it was too much, she had just listened and watched him going on about the particular importance of correctly translating a particular Latin grammatical system when she just had to do something.

"You could of course simply translate it literally, but that leads to really weird sentences. It may also be translated as an infinitive clause… Hermione, what are you doing?" asked a completely flabbergasted Harry, right after he had been chastely but thoroughly kissed by a now madly blushing Hermione.

"Well, I'm kissing you…" Hermione deflated a little at his shocked expression. Did he not like it? "I'm sorry Harry, I shouldn't have…" she started rambling, only to be interrupted herself this time. Harry was kissing her, and this time it was much less chaste, the fact they were both technically adults in the bodies of eleven-year-olds never crossed Hermione's mind while she was being held close by _her _Harry.

OOOOOOOO


	7. Chapter 7: Ruminations on the Future

**Chapter 7: Ruminations on the Future**

A still broadly grinning Harry Potter was making his way down to the common room after his morning routine. The day before, Hermione kissed him. _Him._ Who'd have thought Hermione could be interested in him like that. The fact that him being enthusiastic about learning obviously appealed to her was not surprising, considering who her last 'interest' had been. It also just fit; it was very Hermione to be attracted to something like that.

He was greeted by an equally grinning Hermione in the common room. They had not taken the time to talk about everything last evening, but both had the impression they had taken a very important step. Hopefully, it was in the right direction. What that right direction actually was, they still had not talked about.

"_Do I want Hermione as my girlfriend?" _Harry asked himself.

"_Yes!" _came the resounding answer from his unconscious.

Alas, it was neither the time nor the place for this discussion. Instead, he embraced Hermione for a good-morning hug and they made their way to breakfast.

OOOOOOOO

The two had managed to get through breakfast with only a very reasonable amount of awkwardness and were now slowly strolling out of the main gates to enjoy their Saturday under the October sun. From time to time, Harry would throw small glances and subtle smiles at Hermione, only to find her doing the same. Whenever that happened, they would quickly avert their eyes and blush a little. As far as Harry was concerned, it was a fun little game and great in postponing the discussion he knew they had to have.

As they rounded the Black Lake, still enjoying their tense-in-a-good-way silence, Hermione's hand sneakily managed to enter Harry's. It was warm, comforting and without any ulterior motivation, just there. Seemingly noticing his irresponsiveness, Hermione tried to extricate her hand from his, but Harry would not have it. He tightened his grip and entwined their fingers. It was a subtle kind of embrace and just too good to let end.

When they finally reached a place out of sight from the castle and the others that were strolling along on the grounds, Hermione erected a nifty little ward that would keep the cold at bay, while Harry conjured a blanket for them to sit on, which they did. He tried instinctively to hug her to his side, but instead she sat across from him, legs cross and a wistful smile on her face.

"Harry, I think we need to have a serious talk," she started, eliciting a small frightened squeak from Harry. "It's not what you think," Hermione quelled his fear immediately. It amazed him time and again how well she knew him. "I just think it is important we talk everything through before we act rashly." Receiving a nod she continued, "Just imagine, we don't work out. What then? The only person to know who we _really _are could end up hating us. We're the only people who lived through the second war, and we can't tell anyone else. What if we started dating and we split up. What if I'm not…"

She could never continue her train of thought, because Harry knew Hermione almost as well as Hermione knew Harry.

"…good enough for me?" he continued her sentence in a deadpan tone. "Hermione you're way better than just good enough for me. And what makes you think we wouldn't work out? I mean, I admit I have limited experience, but I think you're way better for me than anyone else and I could not imagine Harry Potter without Hermione by his side."

This seemed to be exactly the right thing to say or Hermione just violently agreed with the sentiment, because all further thought was vanished by the heated embrace and subsequent kisses now bestowed upon Harry. In her fervour, Hermione knocked him over so that he was now lying on the blanket and happily cuddling and kissing back.

The two out-of-timers spent a few minutes like that, but Hermione's reasonable side started to reassert itself and she slowed down the very pleasurable activity they were currently engaged in.

"What does that mean for us?" she asked, still a little self-conscious.

"This, Miss Granger, means that I would very much enjoy having you as my girlfriend," Harry asked the giggling (_"Hermione's giggling!"_) girl in his arms.

"Well, Mr. Potter, that is quite the offer. An offer I can't refuse, I think," she answered through her mile-wide grin. She interrupted her elated new boyfriend as he wanted to start kissing her again. "But I think we have to talk about some practicalities."

Harry frowned in answer, so he received further explanation. "Harry, were eleven and twelve, for us to openly be a couple now, especially with me being a 'mudblood' could dump a lot of trouble on us. Trouble and scrutiny we just can't use at the moment."

"I don't care; I'm not ashamed of you!" Harry stated with the conviction he felt in his heart.

"I know, and I thank you for that. But that's not the point: Do you think McGonagall keeping a close eye on us because she thinks we're too young would help us train? Do you think, people looking too closely into why we're acting more mature than we should be is gonna help us cover up the fact we're essentially seven years older than we seem to be? Neither of us is good enough at Occlumency to withstand a concentrated search of our mind, at least not yet. Exactly that is what we'll get when we arouse too much suspicion," she said in an analytical voice. Still, her sadness shone through, a sadness that must have been visible on Harry's face as well.

"I would love nothing more than to openly be your girlfriend, but for now I'll have to contend with the two of us knowing. When the time comes, I'll be very happy to change public perception to adapt to reality." Hermione gave him a smile, a smile he now realized she had never given anyone else. It was his smile.

Harry did not answer, there was nothing more to say. Of course Hermione was right, she always was. Instead, he just hugged her closer, enjoying sharing warmth with his girlfriend.

OOOOOOOO

The new couple continued to enjoy their Saturday together and were not seen again until lunch, after which they spent some time with Neville.

"Hermione, when exactly is you birthday?" the shy boy asked his friend, who in turn winced a little. When the conversation had turned towards birthdays and their celebration she knew this question would come sooner or later. Still, she had hoped she could avoid it.

"September 19th," she answered curtly, hoping Neville would catch the hint and abandon the topic. Alas, luck was not with her.

"What?!" He almost screamed, throwing her a panicked look. She caught Harry's eye briefly, receiving a sympathetic look, but nothing more. He was as clueless about how to avoid this as Hermione. "Why didn't you say anything? We'd have thrown a party for you, gotten some presents."

"I usually don't celebrate my birthday," she offered, as curtly as the first answer.

"Why ever not?"

"_Yes, why ever not?" _Harry knew of course. At her first real birthday party, she had turned six that day, she had prepared a party mostly by herself, because her parents would not help. She had collected her pocket money for a long time, bought cake and invited all the neighbour kids. No one had come, except the one kid she had not invited, her pre-school tormentor.

As far as birthday memories went it was not as bad as Harry's, the first day he had asked for his birthday, he had received a beating. Still, the whole experience had turned her off the concept of celebrating one's birthday. Permanently.

Now, for all intents and purposes, she was a grown woman, but the old insecurities kept creeping back up from time to time. There was no escaping the conversation now, though. If not Neville, Harry would gently press her to reveal it and she would be thankful in the long run for sure.

"I really don't have good experiences regarding birthdays," she volunteered the smallest bit of information she could hope would be accepted.

"Well, we can change that," Neville stated with conviction, along with Harry nodding fervently.

It seemed there would be a very belated birthday party for Hermione this year and at least two people were sure to attend.

OOOOOOOO

Harry snickered a little. Hermione, curled up next to him noticed immediately and threw him a questioning glance.

"_It's almost a glare," _Harry mused. _"She must have been dozing on her new pillow."_

That thought only brought more snickering and a more questioning glance.

"I was just imagining people's reactions when we finally tell everyone we're together," he answered her looks, earning himself a return-snicker.

"Well, enlighten me then," she prompted him, wearing his smile on her face.

"First, Malfoy; He'll stride over to the Gryffindor table, probably during mealtime, spout something about mudbloods, you, me, my mother and the purity of the Potter bloodline. Second, Ron; Same place, same time, something about bookworms and why I am interested in you anyway, considering what a better friend he would be."

That one hit the nail on the head, actually. Ron had repeatedly accosted Harry the last month or so, implying he would like to be Harry's friend and how he was so much more interesting to hang around with than the 'know-it-all' anyway. He was getting less and less subtle with each attempt, and he had never exactly been sneaky to begin with.

"Third, Molly; She'll be oh so crushed her 'little Ginny-girl' won't be able to catch the boy-who-lived, probably blame Ron for it too. And I think you getting a Howler is a given, how you're corrupting me with your 'loose muggle-morals' and how a proper witch would be better for me." Receiving a reaffirming nod from Hermione, she seemed to agree with his predictions, coupled with her still questioning look prompted him to continue.

"I just found it funny how all these people think they have any say in how I lead my life. That's what I was laughing about earlier. What does Malfoy care whether I _soil _my bloodline?"

"That, my dear Harry, is because to them you are indeed the boy-who-lived. They think it makes you a person of public interest, so they'll publically take a stand on your decisions," Hermione explained sadly, what Harry already knew.

"That's what is so great about you, you know that? For you, I'm just Harry," he remarked lovingly, a caring smile on his lips. "You know there might not be a future for me in Britain, don't you?"

With his girlfriend nodding on Harry's chest, there was nothing more that needed saying.

OOOOOOOO

In potions, the weeks last lesson, Hermione's apprehension and anticipation could hardly be contained anymore. In only a few short hours she would have her first birthday party where people would actually show up. Neville and Harry had cooked up the whole thing, prepared an unused classroom with a little help from the school elves, thought up an excuse for not having the party on her actual birthday and bribed the twins into getting them a few sweets from Honeyduke's. Of course Harry could have gone himself, but without the cloak and plausible deniability concerning knowledge of the secret passage to the shop, awkward questions about the source of the sweets would have to be avoided.

Snape had just given his customary "Instructions are on the board" when Harry and Hermione started merrily chopping away at their ingredients. With Hermione as a willing tutor, and without Ronald to run interference, Harry was brewing potions on a level he had never before. Still, more could be learned on the subject and Snape was not the way. It was a problem that needed solving, especially since they would both have to be able to brew antidotes as fast as possible, both against poisons and love potions.

Despite all the thoughts flying through her head, Hermione decided to concentrate on just one thing; she was getting a birthday party and someone else had organized it.

OOOOOOOO

Later that day, a freshly showered, dressed, pep-talked and wound up Hermione was following her boyfriend through the hallways of the castle. They were now in front of a door behind which waited Hermione's not-so-surprise birthday party, and the jitters were coming back. Before they could turn to full-blown anxiety she summoned all her courage and strode confidently into the room.

"Happy Birthday!" The surprised girl was greeted by a large portion of their year at Hogwarts. Yes this was something she would certainly be enjoying.

OOOOOOOO

Hermione's predictions had been correct, she enjoyed the party immensely. While there was no big gift-giving or anything, there just had not been an opportunity for most people to get anything, it was the best present she could have received. She had celebrated her birthday and everyone had come. That led to one of her questions.

"How ever did you get most of our year to attend?" she asked her still-new boyfriend sharing the comfy couch in the Room of Requirement.

"Believe it or not, people like you. Now that you're less pushy with your knowledge, people come to you and are delighted to have understood when they leave again. Now they actually get to see what a great person you are," Harry smiled back at her, earning himself a thorough kiss.

"If you add concessions curtesy of the Weasley twins and everyone invited was sure to attend. Even some who weren't, come to think of it…" he continued his line of thought.

"Can you believe Ronald just showed up, uninvited and started harping about not being invited while the bloody snakes were? We just had Tracey and Daphne there, the others would not bother coming to a mudblood's party," she managed to press through some of her laughs. "He does know he is a Slytherin, too, right?"

"Yeah, but I bet to him it's a challenge. I guarantee you, he'll do something stupid before the end of the year to prove he should be in Gryffindor," Harry predicted. There was no need to mention that feat would probably include the third floor corridor.

OOOOOOOO


	8. Chapter 8: A Test of Courage?

**Chapter 8: A Test of Courage?**

Ronald Weasley was not having a good time at Hogwarts. It was not just that he was a Slytherin now, which was bad enough all by itself, considering he lacked certain Slytherin traits, namely guile and/or family connections; it was also the general entirety of the Hogwarts experience. He had always been the sixth son, but over the last two years he had grown accustomed to being one of only two still at home. That was more attention than he could ever remember receiving.

The only attention he now received was for him being the first Weasley in recorded history in Slytherin, and it was certainly not the attention he wanted. Neither his mother continually pestering him, whether he was making headway with being resorted, nor his sister's incessant pestering about Harry Potter were helping his mood either. Therefore, he had yet to answer any of their letters.

Of course, all these advanced and sophisticated thoughts were not going on in Ronald's conscious mind. These were conclusions reached by his unconscious psyche, compelling him to act the way he did: moody, hostile, self-centred and downright uninviting. Again, that would have been no big problem in and of itself, given that the current Slytherin head-firstie was behaving moody, hostile, self-centred and uninviting too. Alas, Draco Malfoy's parents also had influence and money.

This had led to the youngest Weasley son receiving the worst bed in the dorm, the worst partners in all the lessons and his continuing distractedness led to him receiving some of the worst marks in all of first year, and even he knew that receiving better results than Crabbe and Goyle was really no achievement. How the two sorry excuses for wizards even managed to get into Hogwarts with their more than sub-par magical talent was an indecipherable mystery. One thing was clear though, it was not through impressive theoretical skills either.

Try as he might, he was not even able to blame someone else for his predicament. Besides the headmaster, the Sorting Hat and the deputy headmistress, that is. But if he were Potter, he would not be interested to talk to a Slytherin either; hell, even as a Slytherin he had no interest in talking to Slytherins more than what was completely, absolutely necessary.

That outlook had completely changed though, when he had gate-crashed the bookworms party, only to find two of his Slytherin, well he refused to call them housemates, in attendance too. Granted, Daphne and Tracey never picked on him, but they were also not showing any signs of unhappiness with being in Slytherin. That meant they were already getting dark, if they were not already. All those dirty snakes eventually would, so they were really no surprise at all.

OOOOOOOO

"Harry, you have to eat," Hermione prodded her still-secret boyfriend.

"But I'm not hungry. I don't think I can eat," he complained dejectedly, receiving a sympathetic frown from her.

"I know it's a hard day for you…" she started but never reached the end of her, hopefully supportive and encouraging, remark.

"No offense, Hermione, but you don't know the half of it. I know you and your parents aren't exactly on good terms, but at least they are still there. I will never know who my parents were, just the distorted images other people have of them," he muttered, almost as if to himself. Only Hermione could hear him.

"Oh, Harry…" no more words were said as Hermione took her boyfriend into the kind of hug socially acceptable between friends. Closer cuddling would have to follow later, somewhere in-between classes and dealing with a troll set loose inside a castle full of children.

OOOOOOOO

Harry, Neville and Hermione had been excused from the feast by a surprisingly teary-eyed Professor McGonagall. When she was confronted with what Halloween now meant for Harry she had shown no compunctions about excluding them from that particular activity. If your house was indeed your family, Harry should not be left alone on such a hard day for him.

Harry had debated with her for a long time about taking Neville with them, but in the end her rationale had won him over; they needed someone else with them to plausibly deny involvement in the troll incident they were expecting to happen shortly. They would just have to make sure Neville was not hurt.

And so they were taking a stroll through the school, while the other pupils were enjoying the feast in the Great Hall, supposedly '_exploring' _all the secret passages Harry and Hermione already knew, but Neville was pleasant company, making them completely unwilling to complain about this in any way, except that Hermione was unable to comfort her Harry on this very important and rather sad day. They would have to get to that later.

"I can't believe we found the kitchens. Fred and George boast about always getting food for parties and such, but it is so easy. Such interesting little creatures, house elves, don't you think?" Neville asked them excitedly just after leaving said facilities, having just had a feast that would at least rival anything dished up for the other students pretty much directly above.

"I still can't believe Hogwarts is employing an army of slaves," Hermione answered heatedly. It was the truth, although it went much deeper than Neville knew. She had had many more years to come to terms with that particular piece of information than he thought, and yet she still could not believe it.

"Let me guess, you want to do something to help them," her boyfriend piped up next to her. Sometimes they played this game, teasing each other with future knowledge. Just the day before, Hermione had gotten invited to the Yule Ball, to which she had agreed delightedly, justifying it with her penchant for Quidditch players. It was not exactly responsible behaviour, but even Hermione could find no harm in it and sometimes; it was an important part of keeping them sane through their whole experience.

"You're going to have trouble with that, Hermione," Neville offered with an apologetic look on his round face. "House elves are very happy with who and what they are, at least most of them. Convincing people to free their servants might be hard hard. Doing it when these servants don't want to be free is nearly impossible." Noticing the disbelieving looks on both their faces he gave an explanation for his uncharacteristic forwardness in supplying information, "What, my Gran has educated me on wizarding politics since I've been, like, four or five. But you know that Harry, same with you, right?" When, at that last remark, he saw the surprised looks on Hermione and especially Harry's face, Neville's took on a frown.

"Harry, you can't tell me you haven't been educated about politics and house business. You're the last Potter for Merlin's sake, of course you have," the still astonished boy stated. As he only received a shocked look and a shaking head in return, that look of shock was mirrored on Neville's friendly appearance.

"Neville, I can honestly say this is the first time I've heard anything about so-called _'house business',_" Harry enlightened their friend to shocked gasps.

"Well, I wanted to invite you to my house over the holidays anyway, now that just became so much more important. Grandma can show you the ropes, if you're interested," Neville proposed with a wide grin. It was clear he was looking forward to this.

"_Not as much as I am," _Hermione chuckled inwardly. Here was something new to learn, something she had never had the opportunity to learn before. That it could also help with her and Harry's goals was the small cherry on top of the large ice cream that was new knowledge.

"Count me in," she heard her Harry answer before she could even comprehend doing the same.

"Won't you need to ask your par… guardians first?" a bemused Neville inquired.

"They will be very happy about wherever I am, as long as it's not with them," Harry answered with a nonchalance that would always manage to rile Hermione up.

Before the expression of fury she could now see on Neville's face could turn into full-blown rage, Hermione gave her answer, too. "I would love to come, Neville. My parents are out of town anyway, some important social event for British health professionals. Staying with you will be way better than going with them and being hit on by the pre-pubescent sons of doctors."

After that, they could not intensify their discussion because in that very moment, all their senses were occupied with something else: Noses were suddenly filled with the smell of rot, ears were echoing with heavy footsteps. Still, their eyes had gotten the worst part of the deal. In front of them stood a mountain troll, easily the height of two grown men, with large elephant-like ears on a comparatively tiny head, the whole thing covered by pale grey skin.

Hermione had expected the sight, of course, but still she felt eleven again, standing in front of that hulking mass of flesh. As if it had just been hours of memories since she had fled after charms class, crying for being alone, friendless, unloved.

Unwanted.

"Holy shit!" Neville's rather unusual use of foul language managed to get her out of the stupor of bad memories.

"_You can do it, Hermione," _she was encouraged by an inner voice that had recently started to sound suspiciously like Harry's very real voice talking right next to her.

"How the hell does a troll turn up in the castle?" he asked in a movie-worthy pretence of surprise.

"Does it matter? Run!" Neville screamed next to them. And that's what they did, even though the two sort-of time travellers already had a plan. Had to look believable, after all.

"What should we do?" Hermione asked in a breathlessness she did not have to play.

"Charms class," Harry answered in their pre-planned fashion. "Did you see its club?"

Instantly, Hermione drew her wand and turned around, stopping somewhere along the line. The troll was still thundering after them, but suddenly faced with a small human who not only stopped running but confidently turned around to face him, it just stood still opening its mouth in a stupid expression.

"Wingardium Leviosa," Hermione incanted, accompanied by the precise swish and flick she had tried to teach Ronald so many years ago. Or maybe never, who knew. Was the future that would now never take place even real, after all?

The results for the troll though were very real. It only stared with rabid curiosity as its giant club left its equally giant hand. Following that club with its gaze soon proved to be one of the troll's worse ideas, as the blunt weapon soon crashed down onto its empty face with a hollow 'thwack'. Accompanied by a mighty splash, the beast fell face down on the cold stone floor, the wooden club giving a comparatively high thump as it fell down next to the troll.

"What'd you do that for?" Hermione heard a voice she was getting annoyed by increasingly. Not to mention sick to her stomach considering how she had felt about him under the influence of that potion; oh, the things that he could have made her do...

"I don't know if you realized, Weasley," she now heard the much more pleasant and very comforting voice of her boyfriend, "but there was a troll in the castle, which just happened to be after the three of us. I for one am happy it is out of the game for the time being."

"But the troll was a test for me, to show I am a real Gryffindor. She just knocked it out so I have to stay with the filthy snakes and we can't become friends, you know?" the redhead stated with such conviction, Hermione could almost pity him for his obviously poor state of mind.

"Well, if it actually was a test it was a really stupid one. And coming here to prove your nobility is not really noble is it? The noble thing would be to come to help your classmates," Harry continued, with Ronald getting increasingly worked up.

Before anymore could happen though, the group heard a number of footsteps growing closer and before long almost the whole staff rounded the corner. This was a moment Hermione had been dreading, because she knew either Dumbledore or Snape would try to read Harry and her minds to ostensibly _'verify' _their stories.

"What is the meaning of this," the almost comfortingly harsh voice of Professor McGonagall sounded through the corridor. Again, it was Harry who picked up the conversational ball.

"We were just exploring the castle a little, the others thought it would take my mind off things," Harry fought a small shudder Hermione was sure was real before he continued, "Anyway, we ran into this thing, so we had to run away. But, look at it, we could not run away forever, so we had an idea…"

"Oh, stop it. It was your idea…" Hermione interrupted her boyfriend, who just picked up where he left off.

"_I _had an idea, which Hermione picked up immediately and made happen. I thought of the levitation spell and that giant club. That's how we came here," Harry finished his tale, but Hermione knew the Professor would not be letting things stand like that. In her mind, she used her admittedly basic powers of occlumency to partition the memories she wanted to be seen to the forefront, hoping Dumbledore and Snape would only use superficial, wandless and silent legilimency. Not that they had much choice with the amount of witnesses and Harry and Hermione not meeting their eyes.

"That accounts for your, Ms. Granger's and Mr. Longbottom's presence. Mr. Weasley, pray tell, why are you here? I distinctly remember seeing you at the feast when the order was given for _all _students to return to their common rooms," she demanded and her voice brokered no argument. Not even Snape could have turned this around for his Slytherin, not that it seemed he wanted to.

When nothing came forth from Ron, the most surprising source of information announced itself. "He said this was some kind of test and he had to prove hi _'nobility and courage' _by charging down here and taking on the troll," Neville explained what he had heard.

"Shut up, you squib," an enraged Ron threw in eloquently. He had turned about as red as Weasleys ever got, which amounted to around the shade of his hair, just minus the orange.

"I was about to ask if that was true but judging from your outburst it seems like it is. I have never seen as idiotic an action as this. Detention with me, one week. Twenty points from Slytherin, and another week for forcing me to take points from my own house. May it cure you from your dunderheadedness," Snape now made his opinion known in as abrasive and cold a voice as she had ever heard.

"But…" Ron started, though he was quickly cut off.

"If you wish to appeal to your head of house's decision, you always can. We would just have to contact you parents and then the school board," McGonagall revealed. Hermione could see that as soon as contacting his parents came up, it was no longer an option.

OOOOOOOO

"Can you believe we witnessed that? Snape taking points from Slytherin, that's gotta be unheard of," Neville exclaimed as the trio was once again safely ensconced in the common room.

"I don't think he really had a problem with Ron seeking glory to be honest," Harry interjected. Seeing the questioning looks on his friends' faces, he illustrated his thoughts, "He would not have any problem with that, it's good publicity. It just irked Snape Weasley ended up trying to save me."

"Makes sense," Neville replied. "Anyway, I was serious before. You two are invited for Christmas, if you want. Gran would really like to meet you, Harry."

"That would be great Neville, if we can swing by Gringotts some time that is. And you have to tell me what a good gift for your Gran would be."

The wide smile on Neville's face let Harry know the shy boy would move mountains to have friends visit over Christmas. What were ideas for presents and a trip to Diagon Alley, compared to the amount of work that would take even with magic for help?

OOOOOOOO


	9. Chapter 9: A Plan Before Yuletide

**Chapter 9: A Plan Before Yuletide**

Before Harry could so much as realize the time's new, improved pace, it was the shortly before Christmas. As expected, neither his nor Hermione's, for wont of a better word, family had had any issues with not having them home over the break. Harry had been instructed in no uncertain terms to cause no havoc and generally not do anything that could lead to a detrimental image of the Dursleys being portrayed anywhere. It seemed the word 'Manor'in reference to his friend's place had been enough to make them forget these were 'freaks'_, _too.

However, there was one thing Harry needed to do before he left the castle for Christmas, and that thing was being started the week before the train would leave. Harry was sitting in the common room, gently lounging around after having finished his homework, when he was 'surprisingly'interrupted by Hermione.

"Harry, look what I found," she greeted him enthusiastically. If nothing else, she seemed to be well cut out as an actress, Harry mused. "Look, it's a picture of your dad; I found it in the archives. Somebody added a note to it." Harry was handed the wizarding photograph by his clearly ecstatic girlfriend. He got the feeling she had added to their plan without telling him and he was soon proven right.

"We, the honourable Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs do hereby declare we are finally done with Hogwarts," he read out loud enough that the Weasley twins could not help but overhear. Their reaction was actually quite entertaining to watch.

With the most important part of the plan done, Harry could look for Hermione's addition which proved to be found rather easily. As he turned the piece of photography parchment, he was greeted not by the picture he and Hermione had gotten for their plan, but a picture of the three friends plus Wormtail on what was obviously their graduation day, all of them bedecked in ornamental robes and wearing wide grins.

"_So, she actually did go and get something out of the archive," _he mused, very touched by Hermione's gesture. For him, there could never be enough pictures of his parents.

"How in the world did they get that note on the photograph _after _they graduated?" he asked the equally clueless Hermione, receiving only a shrug of her shoulders as a response.

OOOOOOOO

With the first part of their combined plan to _'learn' _about Sirius and getting their hands on the Marauder's map well under way, it was time to focus on the second part of said plan. Harry, always interested in learning more about his parents, asked for Professor McGonagall to speak to him after class the next day.

"Yes, Mr. Potter. What can I do for you?" she started in her usual brisk and efficient manner.

"Thank you for your time, Professor. I was wondering whether you could tell me a little bit about this picture. Hermione found it in the archives and… I mean, I know next to nothing about my parents and you were their teacher," he stumbled, and he did not have to play this. He really did hope for some stories, beyond what would be required for his and Hermione's plan that was.

He could see a number of emotions on his stern Professor's face. Normally, one would be unable to see them, but Harry had gotten good at reading emotions, especially anger. And anger was definitely part of what he saw here, though he was sure it was not aimed at him.

"Of course, Mr. Potter. Although. I would also very much like to hear why you know next to nothing about your parents, but we shall have time for that later," she answered in a tone that let Harry know he would not leave the office again before telling her at least part of how growing up with the Dursleys had been. "This is a group of students who called themselves 'The Marauders'_. _Members were four Gryffindors, all of them excellent students with an unhealthy penchant for practical jokes that superseded even that of the young Misters Weasley," McGonagall explained. The look Harry got during that explanation told him fair and square he better not step into their footsteps, or else…

"The members were Peter Pettigrew, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black and of course your father, James Charlus Potter. He was actually named after his uncle, you know, Charlus Potter, because your grandfather Laurentius hated his name. But I digress; that group used to do very well in their studies overall, although they could have been better, had they properly applied themselves. Most importantly, they were some of the closest friends I have ever seen here in Hogwarts," McGonagall continued, and Harry could see the tale was getting to her.

"What happened to them? Why didn't I grow up with Lupin or Black?" he asked, though he just could not bring himself to ask the same question about Pettigrew.

"Mr. Potter… Harry, do you really wish to hear that story? It is not a good one," McGonagall inquired, and Harry could see how troubled she was at telling him about the group. Harry gave a weak nod, unable to do much more; the whole thing was emotionally draining for him, too.

"Well, I suppose you have a right to know." She gave a mighty sigh and started with the story, relaying the whole thing the same way Harry had heard it in third year.

"They only ever found a finger from Pettigrew," McGonagall finished her intensely emotional retelling. It was moments like these that showed Harry that, despite her misplaced, absolute trust in Albus Dumbledore, the woman cared for her students a lot.

"Black was… is your godfather. But considering… considering what he had done he was never considered as a guardian. Pettigrew is dead and Remus Lupin has a certain… condition which makes it hard for him to get employment in the wizarding world, let alone custody of an infant," she managed to answer his questions before he could ask them, not that he really needed to.

"Now I believe it is time for you to answer my questions, don't you think?" And with that she prompted a recital of some of the milder episodes of Harry's upbringing, leaving her torn between being fuming and guilt-ridden for not insisting on her opinion of the Dursleys all those years ago.

OOOOOOOO

"Harry, do you have a moment for us?" the boy in question was stopped by George Weasley after dinner that very same day. Nowhere let it be said that the twins did not hold themselves to a twisted sense of honour.

"I don't have a moment currently, George, but could interest you in a second?" he greeted the twins back, just for the fun of keeping them a little off balance.

"That should suffice, follow me," he was beckoned by Fred, who, as always, seemed somewhat upset that 'ickle Harrikins' was able to tell him and his twin apart. No twin-pong for Harry, it seemed. The pair led Harry around a few corners and into a broom-cupboard.

"Was your father really one of the Marauders?" Fred inquired reverently, the hero-worship in his eyes almost rivalling his little sister at her worst.

"Not only my father, my godfather too. Although I'm not sure I'm proud of that particular connection." At the questioning looks he received for that, he shrugged and continued, "Never mind that. Yes, as far as I know. Why?"

Obviously, this part of the conversation was George's, who now continued the twins' side, "Well, some time back we liberated something from Filch's office…"

"…it was being unjustly held, really. Never did a thing," Fred interceded, only to be stopped by Harry.

"Please guys, no twin-pong. I already have a headache," he groaned, much the amusement of the Weasley tricksters.

"Sorry," Fred excused himself, not looking at all the part.

"Anyway, we liberated this sacred artefact of prankdom, this genius instrument of anarchy. It's called the Marauder's map, your father co-created it, and we believe you should have it," George finished his part while Fred was fishing out the old sheet of parchment from his pocket.

"It is one of our most prized possessions," Fred picked up the conversation where his brother left off. "But it is yours by right, so let me just show you how to use it. We know all the secret passages by heart anyway."

Both twins gave him almost identical grins and launched into their explanation.

OOOOOOOO

With their plans for before the holidays done, they did not really want to rescue the stone before they had access to the cloak of invisibility and had checked Harry for any tracking charms, extensively so, Harry and Hermione took to spending more time with those year-mates they had not spent much time with the last time around.

Some of the people that had been invited to Hermione's party were becoming permanent fixtures of their circle of friends, especially Susan, Daphne and Tracey. Especially the two Slytherins were happy for any excuse to get out from under the oppressing atmosphere of their common room, with Weasley and Malfoy both currently fighting for biggest idiot of the year, not that they saw it that way. Weasley was only fighting for his 'rightful place in the house of the brave'continually blaming Hermione 'The Bookworm' Granger for ruining his chance with the troll, while Draco continued to think, just because his last name was Malfoy, anyone should lick his boots.

Having Susan with them also meant they were often accompanied by Hannah Abbott, but the others did not mind. She was definitely less academic than Hermione, and surprisingly Harry since his return, but just like Susan and in typical Hufflepuff fashion she was very down-to-earth and loyal to a fault. Still, Harry could not help but get the feeling that being exposed to the ideals of the other houses was a good thing for each and every one of them; that included him and Hermione.

The time not spent with friends, what little homework was left and working on their enchanted glasses was spent making further plans and studying the map, the latter two rather extensively. They could see Fluffy was exactly where he should be, as was Wormtail. Just as expected, Quirrell was running around with his point overlapped by Tom Marvolo Riddle, while Dumbledore was doing a lot of pacing around in his office these days; they could only assume it was because of some plan of his going awry. Maybe it was Harry not befriending Weasley, Harry leaving Hogwarts for Christmas or Harry not investigating the stone in any way. Or maybe it was something else entirely; as long as him being nervous kept the old man from interfering with Harry's life, they had no problem with it.

The last, and arguably one of the most important things they were doing, was looking for a very particular piece of information. It was already the evening before the train was scheduled to leave before Hermione finally found that very piece of information, they had been looking for the most.

"Harry, look at this," she shouted enthusiastically and soon came running from in-between two lines of bookshelves the Room of Requirement had made for them, a dusty and very, _very _old book in her hands.

"I think I have it," she exclaimed and shoved the ancient tome under Harry's nose. Her exuberance when knowledge was concerned always managed to amaze Harry.

"'_On the Moste Obscure Nature of Tracking Charms and Enchantments'_," Harry read the title out loud. This particular doorstopper was certainly old enough to contain the kind of information they were looking for; it certainly looked the way it should if it was indeed from a time before the Ministry had gotten as heavy-handed as they were these days.

"Look at chapter XIV _'Practical Application'_, the section for magic-sensing wards and charms," he was instructed by his girlfriend, an instruction he followed promptly. Without Weasley around to distract him and make him feel bad about his academic prowess he may have been an avid learner, but in the pursuit of knowledge, no one was better or more determined than his Hermione.

"The application of magic-sensing wards on a person, due to the very nature of them having to be tied to that person's own magic reserves, lest they cease functioning due to a loss of energy, are only possible with the consent of the person receiving them. Unlike other wards, which are meant to be stationary, these are meant to wander with the person being monitored. The easiest way to achieve this is to bind the ward to a magical object intrinsically linked to one's magical power, without which no magic can generally be performed. I am speaking, of course, of a young magical's wand," he read out. "But I never gave consent to being spied on," he proclaimed, mightily annoyed by this new revelation.

"Oh, come on. You are not old enough to consent to anything like that, at least this body isn't. Your guardian agrees to it, probably something in the small print of Ollivander's contracts. And before you say there was no contract signed, of course not. It would be a magical contract, like the Goblet of Fire, the actions being performed enough to satisfy the contract. You bought the wand, or rather your guardians bought it for you therefore there is consent. That must be the reason the trace vanishes when you turn seventeen," Hermione thought out loud. It was a rather refined thought, or so Harry thought.

"So, what do we do? Sounds like we need other wands, wands Ollivander did not make," he proposed to a nod from his blushing girlfriend. With her next sentence, the reason for her blush became obvious.

"Oh, I can't believe I'm proposing this, but I think we might have to go into Knockturn Alley…"

OOOOOOOO

After a last breakfast in Hogwarts the merry group of students, consisting of Daphne, Tracey, Neville, Hermione and Harry was soon underway to Hogsmeade. Hannah had to stay at the castle, her family being away for a family emergency, and Susan would not just leave her friend alone.

"_They are Hufflepuffs, after all,"_ Harry thought half-jokingly. It was definitely one of the nicer stereotypes attributed to the Badgers.

The trip to London was spent in companionable merriment and with many promises for Christmas presents to be received by the various members of the group. Between two lively games of exploding snap, which Hermione insisted on staying away from after she had lost a fair amount of hair, instead reading some old book she had dug up in the library, they were interrupted by their least-favourite redhead. It seemed as if taking him to Rumania to see Charlie was not such a problem, now that Harry was not staying a Hogwarts, too.

"Hi Harry," he greeted the boy jovially completely ignoring the other occupants of the cabin. "Don't be surprised if you get a present from my family. I told them you did not expect any, so my mom is planning to send you something…"

Here he was interrupted by a slightly irate Harry Potter. "Why ever would you think I would not get any presents? I have a group of great friends, a group I don't consider you to be a part of."

"What friends?" The Weasley boy asked, looking honestly surprised. "I only see two dirty snakes, a squib and an annoying know-it-all. Those two Puffs don't even count," he retorted, his face slowly growing red in the tell-tale signs of a Weasley temper-tantrum. Not in any way interested in dealing with this particular unpleasantness, Harry drew his wand and turned it on Ron.

"Depulso, Colloportus," he intoned clearly, but without much force. The idiot might be a nuisance, and Harry a bit ashamed for his former association with the other boy, but he constantly reminded himself that Ronald was also nothing more than that; especially not this twelve-year-old version of him. So, one mild banishing and a locking charm later, they were free to again indulge in their chosen activity, which soon turned to swapping Christmas stories from their families. Harry and Hermione both held back at that topic. It would not do to bum anyone out just before the holidays, after all.

OOOOOOOO


	10. Chapter 10: A History Lesson

**Chapter 10: A History Lesson for Christmas**

The Hogwarts express reached Kings Cross later than usual that day, due to the heavy snow blanketing huge amounts of Scotland with its beautiful, but as far as trains were concerned, detrimental whiteness.

"Harry, Hermione, please don't take it personally," Daphne implored the two of them, her eyes pleading with them not to blame her for her family's… inadequacies.

"Of course not," Hermione answered the clearly distraught girl. "It's just sad you can't introduce your friends to your parents because they believe in that nonsense," she replied sadly.

"They don't, not really. It will just take a little time and explaining for them to accept it. No one ever thought it possible for two Slytherins to become friends with a bunch of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, especially if two of these people were Harry Potter and a muggleborn," Tracey butted in as Daphne seemed unable to continue at the moment. "They will approve, though. Especially of Neville, Susan and Harry." A smirk now gracing her features, she continued a little impishly, "All powerful, old families, and Amelia Bones is head of DMLE, a good spot to be in to become the next Minister. Not that that's the reason we're your friends." The last remark was added with fearful shock on the dark-haired witch's face, obviously realizing how what she had just said could be interpreted.

"And nobody here thought so. If it gets your parents off our case, who are we to complain about it," Harry interceded the guilt-fuelled rant Hermione had seen coming.

"_Very thoughtful of him," _she mused proudly, lovingly.

As the doors opened, Tracey and Daphne quickly left the train to meet up with their respective families, Daphne being enthusiastically greeted by her sister Astoria. Harry and Hermione were led by Neville to the old, stern-looking woman they remembered from the last timeline. She was just as imposing as she remembered, and the attire that had seemed so laughable on Neville's boggart just seemed frightening on her. Even the stuffed vulture on her hat.

"Gran, I would like you to meet my friends, Hermione Jean Granger and Harry James Potter, Heir to the Potter family. Harry, Hermione, my grandmother Augusta, Viscountess Longbottom," he introduced everyone, receiving a strange look from both Hermione and her boyfriend for the somewhat weird introduction.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, although I gather from your expressions you have not been properly schooled in etiquette. Not surprising for a muggleborn, but downright neglectful for a future duke," the stern woman stated in her no-nonsense voice. Strangely, her comment about muggleborns did not irk Hermione, at least not much, as it was delivered so matter-of-factly, without even the barest hint of contempt. She knew muggles did not care much for some of the older customs of their own world, how could muggleborn be expected to know about those of the wizarding world if no one ever deemed it necessary to tell them? "If you are in agreement, we shall rectify that tremendous oversight over the holidays. Merlin knows Neville could use a refresher."

Behind his grandmother, Neville was giving his friends thumbs-up that were coupled with a most disconcerting smile.

OOOOOOOO

They were chauffeured to Longbottom Manor, the family's ancestral home in Suffolk, by an excitable young house elf named Pappy and promptly given the tour by Neville.

The manor was done in the style of the _really_ old, fortified homes of the landed gentry, complete with a mote, drawbridge and even a small wall. Most of the other former defensive elements had been forced to cede their places to amenities though, including a ballroom adjacent to the large hall in which the lord of the manor had held court in days yore. Furthermore, there were several guest rooms, a master suite, a family wing and the old barracks now housed a small duelling area, with a potion laboratory added in the dungeons under it.

Harry immediately liked the place, especially the medieval feel of the moat and drawbridge; he said he could almost see people with bow and arrow, or shield and sword in hand, bravely fighting off a band of roving bandits. Hermione was more interested in taking a good long look into the library, time permitting, but she would not be upset either way, because she had the feeling they would be spending a lot of time here.

After dinner, again served by Pappy, who was very excited to have people there to dote upon, Augusta, as she bid them to call her, started off with 'rectifying some oversights", as she called it.

"It seems you are both woefully uneducated in wizarding lore and customs. I shall try to give you the basics," the old lady started, only to be interrupted by ruffling. Hermione returned to the table, feeling her face blush as she put down ink, parchment and quill. A satisfied nod from Augusta told her she was in no trouble. "British wizarding society is old, very old. We don't know where the roots lie, but our earliest written accounts are from the early 10th century, no doubt because somewhere around that time Hogwarts started hoarding knowledge, protecting it from the occasional bout of book burnings. Back in that time, before the witch hunts hit Britain and even earlier, before Christianization, having magic was often a way to great power. Unfortunately with great power often comes envy, and this is what led to the founding of Hogwarts. It was a way for magical children to be protected from the claws of the greedy, or sometimes downright abusive. When the whole of England became Christian, the situation did not exactly get better for young witches and wizards, especially the muggleborn. So, back in 1066, when William the Conqueror planned to invade Britain, the most powerful and influential of the magic families struck a deal with who they thought would be the future king of England."

Here, Augusta made a little pause, silence filling the room aside from Hermione's quill scratching on the parchment.

"That deal proposed that the old and powerful wizarding families would keep all their hereditary titles and be granted self-governance. In return, they promised to fight the battlemages the Norwegian king, Harald Hardrada brought with him on his own attempted conquest of the isle. They did just that, I don't want to bore you with details…" Hermione felt a sting of annoyance at this, "…, and were granted what they had been promised. They just took the name of the Anglo-Saxon king's advisory body, the Witenagemot, and turned it into their own. Today, it is the Wizengamot," she finished her tale, which was only good, because it finally allowed Hermione to ask questions.

"Did I understand this correctly, the old wizards were living together with muggles, were even granted sovereignty by a muggle ruler and actively trying to integrate muggleborns into their society? What happened to that?" she asked, astonished how the pureblood doctrine could rise from this.

"Well, I assume you listened carefully while writing down notes. I'd ask you to think about why the old wizarding families would be interested to ingratiate themselves with the muggleborn of that time instead of just shunning them, like they do today. Believe me, even back then they distrusted first generation magicals," she countered the question with another question. Hermione munched it through her head, looking at it from all possible sites, until finally the proverbial light bulb went off. The fact that Harry's light bulb had obviously gone off earlier than hers surprised her just a little.

"Because a muggleborn was a threat to the power these people held as wizards. They were the way for the people who desired their power and wealth to get both, but if they managed to bind them to their houses, either through oath, friendship or marriage, it actually widened their powerbase," she concluded, receiving a happy nod in return.

"Exactly. As for their sovereignty being gifted by a muggle king, the purebloods simply chose to conveniently forget it. Common knowledge is an interesting thing, isn't it?"

OOOOOOOO

Their lesson concluded, the three children, for lack of a better word one could apply to Harry and Hermione, were sent to bed. The next day would be very taxing with an appointment at Gringotts topped off by Christmas shopping. Also, Hermione and Harry still had to find a way to break away from the other two and get wands not bearing the trace, seeing as they could not rescind their guardian's permission before they were adults in this timeline.

Harry was shown into one of the guest bedrooms by Pappy, who then promptly left to show Hermione into the one across the hall. His room, or rather rooms, were very nice, decorated in soft, earthy colours, the ensuite bathroom tiled in crisp white. Seeing as he was completely knackered from the day, the only things Harry did before collapsing into bed was brush his teeth (Hermione would get upset with him otherwise) and slip on his pyjamas.

However, now that he was actually lying comfortably, he just could not get his thoughts to quiet down sufficiently to let him sleep. He was having doubts and concerns, and like for so many people, they were never stronger than the moment he tried to go to sleep. Harry was feeling immensely guilty for not getting his godfather out of Azkaban instantly; even though he knew he had no way to do so. He was feeling guilty for lying to his friends about who, or rather how old he really was. He knew perfectly well he was manipulating a whole lot of people; he was doing the same thing Dumbledore had been doing in the old timeline and had been trying to do again.

Not that Harry really blamed the old man, although he thought it would be easy to. He was just getting very, _very _old, and that brought with it making more and more mistakes as time progresses. The only thing he really faulted Dumbledore for was never taking the time to build a worthy successor. And maybe not realizing the dangers of Tom Riddle when there had still been time. And for not doing anything about the Horcruxes as soon as he had only an inkling of an idea…

"_Okay, maybe I do blame him for a lot of things. But his motivations are pure, and although his methods are deplorable, no one would fault him if it was working," _he mused. That musing was cut short by the sound of the door opening.

"Can't sleep either?" he heard Hermione's voice from the shadow that entered his bedroom.

"No. Hermione what are you…" he started as he felt her crawling into bed with him. He stiffened immediately; this was the first contact like this since…

"Harry, what is it?" he could hear the hurt in her voice, hurt at him pulling away from a cuddle it seemed she needed desperately. Hermione hurt was something that would always get Harry out of his stupor.

"Got nothing to do with you, sweetie. It's just... you know the last time I was like this with somebody…" Harry shrugged in the dark, knowing Hermione would be unable to see it. The gesture was more for him than for her anyway.

"Oh," she moaned dejectedly. "I can go if you want…"

"No, please stay. And you were right, I can't sleep. Just thinking about all the things we're doing, are planning to do. Like, should we have freed Sirius already, or aren't we being just as manipulative as Dumbledore?" Voicing some of his concerns to the one person who had even a chance at understanding felt good, actually.

This time, when Hermione cuddled into him, he did not pull back. Instead, he embraced her in a tight hug he knew they both yearned for, as complicated as the feelings it evoked in him were.

OOOOOOOO

It had been one of the best nights of sleep in Harry's memory, up until the alarm clock Hermione, ever sensible, had brought with her had gone off at 5:30.

5:30 in the morning.

"What is that?" a severely sleep-ruffled and annoyed Harry lifted his head from behind Hermione's where he had been snuggling into the locks of her bushy hair. He saw the old mechanical clock ringing away on the nightstand and immediately deactivated it. It would not do to awake the entire house, after all.

"Hermione, wake up." He shook his girlfriend gently, but her only reaction was to turn around and face him directly, resting her head on his chest.

"Hermione, as much as I enjoy this, I think you set that alarm for a reason, time to wake up," he insisted more forcefully, prompting her to open an eye and peer at him.

"Don't wanna, it's way too comfy here. You make an excellent pillow," she yawned, quickly followed by intensifying her cuddling of him.

He finally managed to get Hermione, who as it turned out had set the alarm to be safely tucked into her own bed when everybody else awoke, out of her sleepy state, which he was rather sorry for, for she was oh-so cute like this, and into her own bed.

They agreed to 'wake up' at half past six and meet in the sitting room for a little bit of planning.

OOOOOOOO

At the appointed time, Hermione slowly walked towards their meeting point. She was rather flustered, as she was beginning to get worried Harry might be angry with her for just showing up in his room the night before. It had certainly hurt to feel him pull away from the cuddle she had needed so desperately, but she understood why. If even something as innocent and beautiful as a loving cuddle was marred with bad memories, that was even more reason to condemn such a thing as rape potions.

When she entered the room, most of her fears were swept away by Harry smiling at her, broadly so. However, he also looked quite apologetic.

"Hermione, I'm so sorry I pulled away from you yesterday, it was…" he started, but this time Hermione would not have his self-deprecation.

"No, Harry. You have nothing to be sorry for, the only one who has is me, I should not have showed up like this. It's just… I remembered some things from the old timeline and I really needed some warmth. Sorry for that," she rushed out, afraid that she might lose the courage she had been gathering.

Harry looked at her long and carefully. Finally, he stated with conviction, "Hermione, never apologise for needing a cuddle. Merlin knows we've seen enough to warrant that from time to time."

Despite their plans saying otherwise, not a lot of planning was done before the rest of the house awoke.

OOOOOOOO


	11. Chapter 11: In the Depths of London

**Chapter 11: In the Depths of London**

Chief Ironclaw was standing at the full height window of his office, gazing down at the masses of people down in the alley. It was an important day for both his nation and the bank, because today they had the ability to get to Harry Potter, alone and without the old fool Dumbledore meddling.

The headmaster had never particularly irked the goblins before, but he was getting up there in years and in humans that generally meant clinging to the status quo, almost desperately convinced that any change had to be a bad thing. As far as Ironclaw was concerned though, the status quo was what was undeniably bad. In times long past he had taken an oath, the oath of a warrior to his family and his clan, that he would see his children's children using wands. Now his oldest was expecting and it was time to hurry up.

The Potter boy might just be the way to achieve his goal and die in peace, his honour still intact.

OOOOOOOO

The Gringotts building was as imposing as ever, its large looming whiteness ruling over Diagon Alley. It was a little ironic that the creatures many wizards did not even think worth noticing would have the most imposing building of the whole centre of wizarding Britain, Harry mused amusedly.

Somehow, he and Hermione had managed to get Augusta off their case and be left alone for most of the morning, including their trip to Gringotts. Considering they did not really know what to expect from this particular visit and would probably have to talk about things they rather should not with a large amount of people, that was definitely a good thing.

"_At least we know now where Neville's shyness comes from, his Gran completely coddles him," _Harry determined.

The young couple entered the bank building and waited in line in front of one of the tellers. At their turn they respectfully waited (just as Hermione had been taught to do with bank clerks) until said goblin lifted his head from his parchment, where he was doing some bored doodling, drawing different sorts of very effective looking weapons.

"Yes, your business with Gringotts bank?" the clerk barked out.

"Hello, my name is Harry Potter, I have an appointment," Harry introduced himself, trying hard to stay friendly despite the obvious surliness of his counterpart. He would be surly, too, if all he heard all day would be barked demands to be shown to one's vaults.

"Of course, Mr. Potter," came the answer, now in a surprisingly friendly tone that was even more disconcerting than the surliness before. The goblin pressed a button next to his parchment and continued in his false friendly voice, "Someone will be by shortly. Next!"

The last bit was barked again, and Harry and Hermione were quickly replaced by a rather irate middle-aged wizard, who seemed quite put out he had had to wait and promptly took it out on the goblin teller.

"My father is ready to see you now," they were soon approached by another goblin, this one's friendliness much less played and therefore much more comfortable. "My name is Sableclaw, if you would please follow me."

And this they did. Through hallways and staircases they went, with the stately marble soon being replaced by cold stone walls that looked like they were hewn directly out of the bone of the earth. The young couple shared an astonished look, as they could not remember ever having been inside of this part of Gringotts, when their guide suddenly turned and they stood in front of a huge (for goblin standards) door, finely crafted from a silvery metal and embossed with scenes of glorious combat.

"_At least glorious for a race of warriors," _it shot through Harry's head.

Sableclaw stepped up to the door in what seemed an almost ritualistic fashion, knocked three times and immediately left without one more word, eliciting more looks of astonishment from Harry and Hermione. There was not much time to be astonished, though, because soon the corridor was echoing with a deep and very old voice.

"Enter!"

The young couple stepped forward and as if automatically (magic!) the door opened on their approach, showing them into a surprisingly comfortable chamber. The walls were still rough-hewn and lighting was achieved with flickering torches, but there was a large carpet and a number of filled book cases, a huge desk and, oddly enough, a globe.

"Take a seat," they were instructed by the same voice they had heard outside the door. Now they could see it was coming from an extremely old goblin sitting behind the desk, wearing a surprisingly friendly smile.

"My apologies for the way our teller acted Mr. Potter, Ms Granger. Dealing with less than friendly customers," this part was sneered, "day in day out can really sour one's mood. The name is chief Ironclaw, but you may abate with the formalities. Ironclaw shall suffice," the old goblin, Ironclaw, introduced himself.

"Thank you Ironclaw, then it is Hermione and Harry," he heard his girlfriend say while he was still taking in the impressive office.

"Now to business. You have made an appointment, let us hear what you were concerned about, then Gringotts has a proposition for you," Ironclaw said, now in such a brisk, business-like manner so unlike his former friendliness the change was startling.

"Yes, thank you," Harry answered. "I have gotten an… anonymous tip I should see Gringotts, preferably alone. The last time I was here it was with Mr. Hagrid, so some business might have been left open. And don't mind Hermione being here, whatever you tell me, I'd tell her later anyway," he finished with a slight chuckle, shocked at the minimal upturn in the lips of the goblin opposite him.

"Then, Harry, I have to say that anonymous source was not wrong. It is good you came when you did, therefore averting more damage. There has been some illicit activity with the Potter accounts, activity we were unable to investigate up until now. With your say-so, we could find out." This time there was no mistaking it: Ironclaw was smiling, but it was a smile so unlike a human one it might have been taken as almost a gesture of threat.

"Of course, but before that: Potter accounts?" Harry inquired. He had never even heard of any Potter accounts before this, neither in this nor in the old timeline.

"Oh yes, the Potters are an old line of nobility, both in the muggle and in the magical world, although I think they were forgotten by the British peerage, long thought extinct. As soon as you claim your inheritance, you are actually a Duke," Ironclaw explained.

"And I thought they were joking," Harry noted, thinking of Neville and his Gran on the previous evening. "Yes, please take a look into that illicit activity. One question, if I may?"

"Certainly," Ironclaw allowed, magnanimously nodding.

"Why did no one ever tell me? Even an owl would have been helpful," Harry demanded, trying hard not to sound to put out.

"Ah, I see you are not that immersed in goblin/ministry treaties. Telling you about wizarding politics would be us actively interfering, something we are contractually banned from doing. If you ask, however, we're simply _'assisting a value client'_." This time it was unmistakable: A small chuckle left the old goblin's mouth, quite disconcerting to human ears.

"Something to know about the old families, since you asked so nicely," the feral grin was back, "the family heads of the old lines usually had last wills, especially in more uncertain times…"

"Did the Potters have a testament?" Hermione asked, obviously no longer content letting just Harry talk.

"I am terribly sorry, Hermione, but I am unable to tell _you _that," Ironclaw responded, with a weighty look towards Harry.

"_I think I am finally getting what is really being played here," _Harry mused before he asked the same question his girlfriend had before him.

"Certainly Harry, we will have a reading of the will organized for you shortly, seeing as you are one of the beneficiaries," he got for a reply.

OOOOOOOO

Barely half an hour, and some much-needed refreshments for both goblin and humans later, another goblin carrying a huge ledger and a sealed roll of parchment entered the room through a door so seamlessly integrated into the wall Harry had not seen it before. The goblins really were quite the craftsmen, he determined.

"Hello, I am Blacktooth from the goblin archives; I am here to read a will. Is that correct?" The much younger goblin asked.

"Correct, Blacktooth," Harry answered the inquiry.

"And everybody here is either a beneficiary of here by the invitation of one?" the archivist clarified, dubiously looking at Hermione

"Yes, Hermione and Ironclaw should hear this too," he responded to the second inquiry. He could feel Hermione fidgeting beside him and was expecting her to say something any time now.

"Are you sure, Harry? I can wait outside, really, this is your parents' will, after all…" she reminded him timidly, not that he needed reminding of that.

"Yes Hermione, I want you here with me. This might be hard to hear, so I'd rather have you right by my side. Plus, I would just tell you later anyway," he tried to lift the suddenly sombre mood that had permeated the room. "Ironclaw, I assume everything you see in this room stays here, same with you Blacktooth?" He received two almost offended nods in return.

"As honour dictates," Ironclaw affirmed what Harry already assumed.

"Then read it."

Blacktooth put down the huge ledger, keeping in his hands the scroll he now proceeded to unseal with a silver dagger he had drawn from somewhere within his robes. He unrolled the old parchment and started reading.

"_Last Will and Testament of James Charlus Potter and Lily Jessica Potter neè Evans, Duke and Duchess of Potter, Earl and Countess of Hereford, Viscount and Viscountess of Welles:_

_We, being of sound mind and body, free from magical or mundane influences hereby bequeath the following:_

_In the event of the death of either one of us, to the surviving spouse we leave our complete assets, aside from what is required by law to go to third parties._

_In the event of both our deaths, we leave the following:_

_To Harry James Potter, on the day of the reading of this will, access to the family vaults, excluding the monetary assets, should he not be of age at that point. In that case, his trust vault is to be replenished to 10000G annually._

_Furthermore, as sole heir he is to receive the headship of the Potter family, with all rights, privileges and duties. Should he not be of age at the reading of this will, he is to appoint a proxy for the seat on the Wizengamot._

_To Remus John Lupin the amount of 100000G and the house we own in Norfolk. Should he prove to be unable to be found, said property has a house elf who should be able to do so instantly. In case his godfather is unable to do so, Remus Lupin is to raise our son in our stead._

_To Sirius Orion Black we leave the same amount, along with the family property on Samson, Isles of Scilly. We know he will be reluctant to accept, but he was cast out by his family and needs a place to stay. Furthermore, we task him, as our son's godfather, with raising Harry in our absence._

_To Peter Pettigrew, our secret keeper we leave our everlasting gratitude for agreeing to keep our location safe inside his mind, as well as 100000G and the everlasting right to use the Potter vacation homes._

_Should none of the aforementioned guardians be available our son's welfare shall be entrusted to a loving muggle family to be told of his heritage on his sixth birthday. The family shall receive a yearly stipend of 10000 Pounds for his care._

_This we declare to be our last will and testament, all earlier wills null and void._

Here are the signatures of both testators and the executor, one Albus Dumbledore, dated August 7th 1980," Blacktooth finished the reading, leaving Harry to ponder the ramifications of the document. One thing was clear though; there was no way he would let Wormtail get any of the inheritance.

"Is there any way in which I can contest part of this?" he asked, looking first at Ironclaw and then Blacktooth.

"May I inquire what exactly you wish to contest?" Ironclaw queried with a knowing glint in his eyes. Again, he seemed to be bound by non-interference until asked for help, it seemed.

"First, as my parents are dead and from what I heard were betrayed by their secret keeper, I would like to contest Pettigrew's inheritance," he answered, already fearing he would not like the answer.

"There is no way to do that. As Pettigrew was still alive when your parents died and has since been declared dead, the bequest would go to his closest living relative, meaning his mother," Ironclaw said with an apologetic look. "I really am sorry; there is little we goblins detest more than a traitor."

"I have reason to believe Pettigrew is still alive," Harry stated, to shocked intakes of breath from the two goblins. "Is there a way to hold up that bequest so it will go to him and I can get it back as- I don't know, restitution in a court of law maybe?"

"We can do that, inventing problems in bureaucratic procedure is one of our specialties," came the answer from Blacktooth, who was now wearing the same feral grin his chief had been earlier.

"Okay, then about my oh-so loving family, I hope they did not receive that stipend, because they never took care of me, I was nothing more than their slave, sometimes punching bag," he continued. It seemed Hermione could no longer hold onto herself, she moved from the seat next to him to the seat on him, circling her arms around her boyfriend and cuddling her bushy head into the crook of his neck. It seemed to be something they both needed at that moment.

"They did receive a stipend for your care, but it is more than double the amount specified in the will, curtesy of the executor. The difference between what was given and what was specified Mr. Dumbledore is liable for, the rest you can again reclaim in a court of law, although this one should be easier than Pettigrew," his newest question was answered by Ironclaw.

This went on for quite some time before their meeting was finally adjourned. Adjourned, not finished as Ironclaw and Blacktooth both repeatedly clarified. They still had more things to talk about.

OOOOOOOO

"Really, Harry, do we have to?" Hermione moaned as she was practically dragged out of Gringotts by her boyfriend. She could understand his enthusiasm about shopping, now that he had the money to do so and the prospect of returning to the Dursleys and having to explain the new clothes was practically zero. That she understood it did not mean she had to share his enthusiasm.

"But I hate shopping," she complained. It was selfish, she knew, but there were actually few things she hated more than shopping, with Ronald Weasley busily rising to the top of them, right along the Malfoys.

"We won't be long, but you know if we want to be taken seriously, we will have to look the part. And it's not unlikely there will be several trials in our future," Harry repeated the reasoning she herself had made earlier. That was simply unacceptable.

"Stop turning my own logic around on me," she responded with a light chuckle to let him know she was not cross with him but appreciated it. No, definitely not cross.

They decided to forgo 'Madam Malkin's' in favour of a little shop called 'Twilfitt and Tattings'. Although Harry said he could remember the Malfoys frequenting the shop, the more upscale feel of the place fitted what they wanted to achieve with these clothes, so they did not take a big issue with some of the shadier clientele.

A significant number of Galleons later, Harry and Hermione were both decked out in new robes, with more shrunk down in their pockets. Now it was time for something Hermione was both dreading and looking forward to; it was time for their trip into Knockturn Alley.

The place was as eerie as she remembered, with dark buildings, dingy corners and shady individuals hiding around in the buildings' shadows. However, now that she cast a closer look at some of the stores, she was surprised how normal some of them looked. There even was what looked like a wizarding sex-shop and a brothel somewhere down a side-street.

However, this was not what they were here for, as she reminded her madly blushing boyfriend after having caught him staring a little.

"I think that's the place," Harry pointed towards the other side of the alley from where she had been looking at. It was a small shop called 'Woodworm Turner and Carpenter'. They entered the establishment and were greeted by a jovial, middle-aged, slightly balding man.

"Hello, how may I help you two? You got lost?" he asked them in friendly way, so unlike Ollivander's overt creepiness it was almost disconcerting.

"Hello. Thank you, let's leave our names out of this, if you don't mind," Hermione greeted back. "We would like to employ your talents as a wood turner for some special appliances," she uttered the special pass-phrase she had learned from Daphne.

"Oho, and how many of these special appliances would you like?" the now happily smiling proprietor inquired of her.

"Four, two for each of us," Harry stated their demand, only for them to receive another, even wider smile.

"In that case, I will make you a good price. Been awhile since I had this large a demand. Tell you what, I will throw in some wand holsters for the both of you and while you wait, you can pick anything up to… say 30 Galleons from my shop. One is on the house," he offered, the manic grin becoming even wider. It seemed he either loved his profession very much or he would make a lot of money from this.

"You seem to very much enjoy being a wand-maker. Or what is it you services are going to cost us?" Harry aired her exact thoughts from earlier.

"Oh, but I'm no wand-maker. By ministerial decree, there is only one wand-maker in Diagon Alley, which is of course the esteemed Mr. Ollivander. Probably because he allows these wretched tracking charms be placed on his creations," the not-a-wand-maker huffed with annoyance. It seemed the _'esteem' _with which he held Ollivander was rather limited. "I am merely a simple carpenter and wood turner, who happens to know quite a bit about wand lore. And it will be 500 Galleons, a bargain really."

"Of course you are. I assume we won't be paying for wands then, but for carpentry and/or wood turning services?" Harry queried. From his smile Hermione knew he was starting to enjoy this game of double meanings and secret passphrases.

"Right you are. Now let us find out what sort of wood and core would be suitable for your… let's say ornamental potion spatulas." With that he led the couple into the back room of his shop, stopping in front of a massive assortment of wooden disks mounted on the wall.

"These are the woods I employ in my craft. You will go over there and touch each and every sample; I will note down with which you feel most connected. Now, off you go," he instructed them.

Hermione stepped forward, touching each and every sample, but only two felt in any way good, a little like the moment she had taken her won wand in hand the first time. One of the woods she recognized as the one her own wand was made of, vine, the other was a handsome, middle brown wood with some reddish hue.

The carpenter gave her an approving nod, but as she gazed at him questioningly, he shook his head. "I can't tell you the wood type until you've tested the cores. I don't want to influence you in any way," he answered her unasked question, satisfying her curiosity. For the moment at least.

Now it was Harry's turn and Hermione could immediately see how the craftsman had been able to tell which woods she had taken to; three times she could see Harry looking completely awed, two bright and one middle brown sample.

The same process was repeated with wand cores, only this time they had been blindfolded and handed the samples by the proprietor. It seemed he really wanted to rule out any discrepancies in their choices.

"Now I will just need the length of… spatula you use normally so using you new ones will not cause much need for getting used to them," he explained, after which they both gave their wand measurements and retreated to the shop to let the man work.

"Can you believe the guy?" Harry asked her with a chuckle. "Ornamental potion spatulas, as if I could use wood to work on potions. It would disintegrate immediately."

"I know, that was quite funny. I think he only has to keep his services quite a bit. I bet many purebloods have enjoyed his carpentry too, that's why he is still able to work like this. They keep this shop an open secret, so they will have another advantage over the less informed members of society, namely muggleborns," Hermione guessed. It was another thing with potential to make her angry about the state of the wizarding world.

"I know how you feel. Let's not dwell on it, we have a shop to explore," Harry proposed with a wide grin. They would need an excuse for their long absence, what better way to do that than something close to the truth? They had simply gotten lost, run into this little shop and asked for the way, buying a Christmas present at this opportunity.

OOOOOOOO

It was about an hour later, they had indeed found a present for Augusta by now, that Woodworm came out of the backroom holding two long boxes and four weird-looking leather thingies.

"I am done. I see you have found something you wish to add to our little deal," he announced, giving the raven statue Hermione was holding a long look. "Just so you know, that is a special little statue. It will never burn, for one thing. And in the bottom, there is a small space with an undetectable extension charm for storing valuables."

"Now, before we get to your spatulas, I have these special spatula holders for you. They come in three configurations, leg, arm and waist; the last one goes on your belt. You can change them by tapping them with your wand and saying the configuration you need at the moment. Very much dependant on whether you want your appliances to be seen," he explained the weird leather thingies. "For now I would suggest arms, as you are wearing robes they should be invisible under that."

"Thank you very much. Is there a way to buy more of these later? I would like one for a friend of mine, and another one for my old spatula as well," Harry asked, still very much into the coded talking. It was like he was in an espionage film.

"Certainly, that is 10 Galleons apiece. For you, too little Miss?" he inquired, to which she nodded.

"One for me, too," she answered in the affirmative.

"Now for your spatulas: You, little Miss have vine and walnut wood with dragon heartstring and thunderbird tail feather for a core. The tail feather should balance out the unsavoury characteristic of disloyalty often shown by dragon heartstring. Should be well suited for transfiguration… potions."

"Thank you very much," Hermione said, took the box and opened it to look at her new wands; beautiful patterns of intertwining reddish and brown wood with an elegantly carved handle, at the bottom of which was a small gem that looked like quartz.

"For you, Mister, I have ash, aspen and elder. Rather suited for martial magic, if I may say so, but you also have my condolences for the elder wood." Upon the questioning gaze from Harry, who did not really catch the meaning of this, he elaborated, "No one who has ever had an elder wood spatula has had an easy life. Your cores are thestral tail hair and a sliver of the horn of a horned serpent. It was not exactly easy to combine these, but I managed."

He gave Harry a box that looked exactly like the one Hermione had received earlier. He opened it, to find two long, rather bright wands, but instead of the finely crafted, smooth handle of his girlfriend's new spatulas, his had a handle in the form of a stylized hourglass. Not to the extreme that it would be uncomfortable, but enough to be clearly distinguishable. The gem on the bottom was the same, though.

Harry took on of the wands in hand and immediately a warm feeling filled him up. The one he had experienced when he had gotten his holly wand at Ollivander's could not hope to compare to this. Something else to think about.

"If you ever intend to use these new appliances and not your old one, you can change their appearance by tapping the gem at the bottom with your old… spatula. Just be aware the enchantment has to be repowered daily. That will be 530 Galleons," he surprised them.

The sudden change of direction caught the young couple on the wrong foot; nevertheless they paid quickly and left the shop, now outfitted with new, untraceable wands and a whole lot more to think about.

OOOOOOOO


	12. Chapter 12: Christmas, Busiest Time

**Chapter 12: Christmas, Busiest Time of the Year**

Christmas morning came unto Harry in the now familiar form of Hermione's alarm clock, waking them both at half past five. He was feeling his girlfriend snuggled into his side, her hair warm against his chest. Her bushy mane was tickling his face, its smell permeating the air and seeping into his nose. It was a very comforting smell, made him all warm and fuzzy inside.

"What a way to wake up," he whispered, eliciting a small, tired smile from the girl in his arms. "Merry Christmas, dear"

"Merry Christmas, Harry," she gave the greeting back. "Oh, Harry, I'm so happy to be here with you, on Christmas."

"As am I. Shall we meet again in, say half an hour?" he inquired of the contently smiling girl snuggled into his chest.

She slightly shook her head, having raised it a bit to allow her to do exactly that. "Make that an hour, I plan on taming my hair for the occasion."

"Okay, an hour then," Harry chuckled, cuddling into her curls a bit, pre-empting the point he was hoping to make next. "But you know I love your hair, right?"

"I know, you noble man. It's me who doesn't," she chuckled back.

OOOOOOOO

The allotted hour later, meaning half past six, Harry had the distinct pleasure of watching his girlfriend step down the stairs in her specially bought Christmas jumper. It was woolly, it was red, it had a large, green tree on the front and it was a way of poking fun at the Weasley jumper Harry expected to receive later that day. Hermione had never received one.

"Hello again," Harry greeted her as she, and her perfectly straight hair, reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Hey. How long have you been down here?" she inquired, smiling and playing with her chestnut tresses a little.

"About half an hour," he chuckled back.

"Merry Christmas," Hermione repeated her earlier sentiment. "This will be such a great day, if I have anything to do with it."

"For me, it already is. I've got you here and there's Neville and his gran. No false friends and hardly any ulterior motives, and all those are inside our heads. All of them very well-meaning and no manipulating intended whatsoever," Harry answered her sentiments with a contented sigh thrown in for good measure. "So, when did Augusta say there would be breakfast?"

"I think she said at eight, but if we were hungry, we should call Pappy and ask for some chocolate," she remarked with a slightly miffed look. She knew Pappy was treated well with the Longbottoms, but the issue of house elves was always going to get this type of reaction.

"We should do that. We should also think about getting Dobby free," Harry commented, thinking of his friend still being tortured by the Malfoys. With Sirius still inside Azkaban, their track record for friends was not good.

"I know, and Sirius too," Hermione sighed back with a wistful look. "You know he talked with me, a lot?"

"No, I never noticed. What ever about?" he queried. This was really getting to be an interesting conversation.

"Loads of things. You know I don't have a real father; it was nice being able to just talk to an older guy about whatever I needed to talk about. I think he was hoping for you and me to happen, even in the old timeline." She smiled wistfully at that. How much that would have changed.

"You know as well as I do, that could never have become reality, not with Ronald and Ginevra interfering," Harry commented sadly, giving off a slight shudder. Those two, the youngest Weasley especially, were a sore spot for him. The fact that, at the time he had been willing to go along with everything she did, did not make what she had done easier to accept for him. If anything, it made it worse. He had been forced to contribute to his own violation.

"Harry, you alright?" he heard Hermione's worried voice from beside him.

"I'm fine," he gave an almost automatic answer. With some time to think about it afterwards, he realized this was an answer that would never satisfy Hermione, not as his friend and certainly even less as his girlfriend.

"Of course, dear. I won't pry, but you know you can talk to me, right?" she stated earnestly, even though the look of dissent on her face was plainly visible; much like Harry, she was someone who wanted problems to be solved, right away if at all possible.

"Sure. About something else," he started his incredibly obvious diversion, "I have been thinking and I have an idea about some stuff we could do to not only defeat Voldemort, but help with the problem of the pureblood bigots."

Now this was something Harry knew would always get Hermione's concentration away from anything else. He knew she was prepared to leave Britain with him should it prove necessary, be it due to Voldemort and his Death Eaters, the general backwardness of magical society or even Dumbledore's machinations, but he was also aware that they would both rather stay in their home country.

"Let's hear that idea then," she almost demanded, the intense interest she held for this idea plain to hear.

"We have to slowly change minds, for that we will need two things: money and influence. I hate to sound so Malfoy-ish, but it's a simple truth. So, what if we started doing the same with other muggle technology as we did with the glasses? Self-heating tea cups for the young witch or wizard not allowed to do magic yet, pens and pencils with self-multiplying ink to get rid of these annoying quills and ink bottles, that kind of stuff. If we keep it away from muggles, maybe fit it with an enchantment so only magicals can access the special features we would not even be in violation with Ministry rules and the statute of secrecy," he proposed, the excitement over his idea barely containable.

"That would be great," his girlfriend answered, equally excited. "If we start there and then broaden our catalogue, we could even get some electronics to work with magic. We acquire money and influence we can use to make society better, while also changing minds, just a little at a time."

OOOOOOOO

The group of merry people were greeted at breakfast by a very enthusiastic elf, somehow able to wear a red Christmas hat. He must have transfigured something, Harry mused. They enjoyed a lively meal followed by an exchange of presents. They had all agreed to give the presents they had for each other directly, one by one, to be able to watch the others' faces as they opened their respective presents.

"Merry Christmas, Augusta," Hermione wished their host, Harry holding out the beautiful wooden raven statue they had picked up at Woodworm's shop and it was an instant hit with the bird-obsessed old lady. Also, it was a perfect opportunity to place their cover story for their detour into Knockturn Alley.

"We kind of got lost on our trip to Diagon Alley," Harry started their sort-of-explanation. "We ended up in some place called Knockturn Alley and it was really creepy. Some shop-owner helped us, we saw this in his shop and thought it would make for a great present."

"It does, you are right. I'm just relieved you got out of there well, it's not the kind of place children should be. Don't get me wrong, not that much actually illegal is going on there, just a bit, but it is all very seedy," the old lady in question reacted to her present.

Further gifts were exchanged, though Harry and Hermione did not have anything for each other. They had reached an agreement that they both had no idea what to give the other, beside the wands Hermione would only accept as a gift if it was indeed for Christmas. Harry had declared the best present was having Hermione with him.

"This Neville, is the product of our Christmas shopping trip for you," Hermione started describing their purchase while Harry pulled out the package. "Open it and we'll show you how it's used."

That was just what Neville did and soon before them lay the elegant craftsmanship that was the wand holster. Harry pulled out his old… spatula and tapped the piece of leather. "Leg," he ordered, an order the holster followed immediately, forming into the leg configuration and awaiting the wand it was to carry.

"This," Harry took over the explanation from Hermione, "is a wand holster. It fits to your leg, arm or waist and allows you to safely store your wand. I've been told that you would not be the first to seriously injure yourself by wearing it in your back pocket. You just tap it with your wand and say which form you want it to take. And don't worry about underage magic," he added at Augusta's disapproving look, "you don't cast anything, it's all in the holster."

That seemingly ended both Augusta's disapproval as well as Neville's confusion and the gift-giving proceeded. From Neville, Harry and Hermione both received books on wizarding culture (different ones, because he said he was sure they would switch later anyway). Augusta gave both of them an assortment of stationary, which was quickly stashed away to further their research on integrating muggle and wizarding advancements.

Shortly after this had proceeded, the expected, but nonetheless unwelcome sight of Errol, the flying mop, appeared at the window of Longbottom Manor, carrying both an envelope and a letter. Harry was close to blowing the handle, as Hermione seemed to be very well aware, and the only thing keeping him from blowing his top at the moment was in fact Hermione. Still, what was the woman thinking, sending gifts to boys she had never met, who did not even have any ties to them, except being somewhat friendly with her twin sons.

"Hey Harry, you okay? You seem like you're gonna attack someone," Neville asked jokingly, but with a hint of concern behind his mirth.

"Nothing's okay, but that's got nothing to do with you," Harry answered, feeling a little guilty for scaring their friend. "I just think that's Weasley's owl, he said his mother would send me a gift _'knowing I didn't expect any'_," he imitated Weasley's self-centred blabbering from before the holidays.

"Let's just take a look at the letter, this should be fun," Hermione proposed as she grabbed her boyfriend's shoulder. It really sucked having to pretend they were just friends. Following her suggestion Harry took the letter from the half-dead owl and opened it.

_Dear Harry,_

_You probably know who I am, I expect my son already told you about me. After my little Ron told me you did not expect any presents for Christmas, I just had to do something. He told me about what a great boy you are from talking with you, considering who your parents were there was never any way you could have turned out differently._

_In the hopes this gift will cheer you up,_

_Molly Weasley_

Harry stared at the letter indignantly, internally musing how intrusive and overbearing a person could be, just assuming he would not get any presents, all this on the word of a boy who had repeatedly antagonized Harry's _real _friends all throughout the year.

Ron's assumption of Harry lacking presents was soon proven to be as false as his claim of having extensively talked to Harry by the arrival of not only one, two or three, but four owls all bearing wrapped gifts, addressed to at least one of the three friends.

The largest and ironically lightest present just had Harry's name on it in a handwriting he now clearly identified as the old meddler's. This was good as far as their plans were concerned; while they did not strictly _need _the cloak for these plans, it would certainly help having it with them nonetheless.

"_We'll just have to check it for any tracking charms, first," _Harry chuckled, laughing about what they planned to do with any of these charms they found. The 'use it well' message was quickly discarded, knowing what was behind it and Harry could move on to his other presents.

First, there was Hannah and Susan: They had thrown something together that looked suspiciously like Susan had gotten her aunt to part with two of her duelling handbooks, only these things were annotated with a number of useful tips and tricks for success and survival in Hogwarts they had gained from older students in their house.

Daphne, knowing of Harry's interest in Greek and Latin language and history, although unaware of his ever-growing understanding of at least the language part, had gotten him an interesting book on ancient Greek sorcerers and cultural magic. Especially the chapter on the Pythia of Delphi and the rituals surrounding her looked very fascinating.

For Hermione, whose continued fascination with the more peculiar differences and idiosyncrasies of wizarding culture in comparison to muggle culture the Greengrass daughter had noticed, she had two much smaller books: _The Young Pureblood Lady_, containing all kinds of 'helpful' advice on getting a fitting husband of proper station and _Muggles, an experienced wizard's view _detailing the rather backward attitude and information some of the purebloods had on the muggle world. Quite disconcerting, really, but also quite funny to read.

Tracey had simply sent them both an assortment of sweets, but what sweets those were. The Davis family was heavily invested in luxury articles the entire wizarding world was rubbing their hands for and their chocolates and pastries were among the best one could ever hope to get their hands on.

Well, now the three of them had their hands on some those, and the only way these delicious treats would be leaving their tasteful packaging would be followed by a quick trip into their mouths.

OOOOOOOO

A few days after boxing day, Harry, Hermione, Neville and surprisingly Pappy the house elf had spent that day with an invigorating game of 'capture the castle' with snow balls, Harry again found himself in the bowels of Gringott's bank for the continuation of their adjourned meeting from before Christmas, Hermione at his side.

"Harry, I hope you had a nice few days. Don't bother asking me the same, we goblins do not celebrate Christmas, or the pagan original humans have for some reason decided to piggyback it onto," they were greeted by Ironclaw, with Blacktooth keeping in the background.

After both he and Hermione had answered in the affirmative, the two were bid to sit while Blacktooth got out his thick ledger again.

"As you know we were not able to complete dealing with the will you were here last time. If you were to kindly request for the matter of an executor to be dealt with, we could continue with that business," Ironclaw continued, complete with his now familiar conspiratorial grin.

The better part of their day was then spent making the necessary arrangements for keeping Pettigrew and Dumbledore out of things, at least as long as it would take to get Harry out of the old meddler's grasp and into hands more capable of caring for a child. That this man was the headmaster of the foremost wizarding school in the whole of Britain and he seemed to be totally unequipped to handle this particular responsibility did not bode well for the future of the wizarding world, as far as any of them were concerned.

OOOOOOOO

Time was flying by and soon the day of Hermione and the boys returning to Hogwarts was growing ever closer. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on one's perspective, there was still one item left on their to-do list: Harry's guardianship.

With Albus Dumbledore being found lacking as the executor of the Potters' will, signalled by his more than ten years long inaction on the matter, someone new had been appointed to that position; a goblin.

From what Hermione had by now seen of the goblins they could be completely miserable, antagonistic creatures, carried their fair share of misogyny and were bloodthirsty as hell, with a viciousness only rivalled by the Dark Lord himself, but the one defining characteristic that unified them all was their honour. Not the same way humans understood the term, but still. In Goblin culture, there was no bigger insult than to question one's honour and no bigger punishment for a crime than to face banishment after being dishonoured. Death would be taken over that by almost any goblin. With one of the crimes that carried this sentence being to break someone's codified trust, she was more than willing to support Harry in his decision to ask for a goblin.

This way, Dumbledore had been ousted and around half of the money he had paid the Dursleys had been taken out of his vault due to him neglecting his duties by giving them too much for Harry's 'care'. In his stead, Blacktooth now saw to it that those Harry had not asked for to not receive their inheritance got what they were owed. Mainly, this was Remus as Sirius was sadly still unavailable to receive anything, while Wormtail's part of the inheritance was currently stuck somewhere in the system, ostensibly being processed to be received by his next of kin in his stead. It would take months to facilitate the necessary checks in the archive; Blacktooth had amusedly admitted it might even be years.

However, Remus had been found somewhere in Europe protecting a family of very, _very _wealthy muggles who had learned of the magic around them due to their muggleborn daughter. Considering the amount of danger they were often in, they had hired Remus as their 'security consultant'. This had left him in the unfulfilling situation of having to deal with Harry over owl post; that is until that day, and Hermione was almost as excited as her boyfriend.

They were currently sitting in a nice little muggle café they had chosen for being more inconspicuous than anything in the magical world, especially with having Harry Potter there. This was necessary due to the nature of their expected talk, because both Harry and Hermione had some tough questions for Remus. Only a few minutes after the young couple had arrived they could see Remus entering, his muggle clothes looking a tad better than what they had expected from remembering his robes.

"Hello, my name is…" he started to introduce himself, but was quickly cut off by Harry.

"Remus John Lupin, we know," he said in a low, calculated voice. They had practised this type of speaking, controlled threatening calmness. "Or Moony, for his friends. Considering my parents were a few of those you were, as you know, mentioned in their will, actually as one of my prospective guardians."

This struck Remus in the heart, as much was obvious. He just plopped down on the chair he had been provided with and stared at Harry dumbfounded.

"Considering this, I would like to know why you never checked up on me. Granted, you did not know about the will, but it's obvious you were quite close to my parents, so why? Because I definitely did not have a nice life," Harry stated and Hermione could see the hurt in the words by his posture and hear it in his voice.

"_Granger, go hug your boyfriend," _that inner voice encouraged her against her compunctions in doing that in front of Remus, considering how much he felt he owed Dumbledore. But there could be no harm in a hug, right? Friends did it all the time.

She scooted closer to him on the bench opposite Remus' chair and enveloped him in a comforting hug, comforting for both of them. These were questions she needed answered, too.

"I…," the werewolf stumbled, clearly wrestling with his words. "I don't know what to say…" he gave a big sigh. "I'll just have to tell you what happened back then from my perspective, right. You know the story? About Black? And about what I am?" he reaffirmed. After receiving two nods from the children he launched into his tale.

"Back when it happened I was in a bad way. I had spent a lot of time with certain elements of society I was… uniquely suited to infiltrate, but what I had to do for that was affecting me badly. By the time the war ended I was already a drunk, and no, there's no better word for it, nothing nicer. I was an addict, pure and simple, in no way fit to care for a child. Lily and James dying only pushed me over the edge, after that Halloween I spent almost two months never really getting sober," he related to them, shaking Hermione to her core. Remus had always seemed so down-to-earth, certainly flawed and with a big self-consciousness problem, but she had never expected this.

"After those two months I hit rock-bottom and I landed in the muggle health-care system in Germany, they've had extensive health insurance for quite some time now which I had access to due to my cover working there, and it got me the treatment I needed." The greying man looked at them morosely, a sad little bout of laughter escaping his lips. "I suppose I should have been a little more concerned when I returned after a year and Dumbledore would not let me see you, telling me you were safer the way it was."

Now, Hermione could actually see tears in this usually so strong and composed man's eyes and she was sure Harry had noticed, too. "Where did you end up?" Remus asked with an audible gulp.

"The Dursleys," Harry answered curtly, still clearly feeling hurt and abandoned by the man in front of him. "It was… not pleasant."

Remus though was as if replaced, the mild-mannered man gone, replace by cold fury. "Petunia," he asked with such ice in his voice it was almost frightening.

"Yes," she answered in Harry's stead, who seemed to have momentarily lost the ability to talk altogether.

"Whatever you need me for, I will help," the werewolf almost snarled in acknowledgement.

This time Harry, who had apparently found his voice again, answered, "Oh Remus, we are so happy you are asking this. We need you to accept your inheritance, including custody of one Harry James Potter. We already have an appointment at the ministry."

OOOOOOOO

Just a few days later when boarding the express to go back to Hogwarts, Harry had just given Mrs. Weasley the jumper back, citing having received it under false pretences as the reason and somehow managed to avoid a blow-up, the recent developments hit him again; that happened from time to time at the moment. Harry had a new guardian and a new home. He and Remus had taken a short stroll around the Norfolk property (calling it a house just did not cut it) and were both awed. Combining that with telling him the news of Sirius' innocence and Wormtail's continued, albeit miserable existence made for quite the day.

"I'm so glad that paperwork went through the way it did," his relieved girlfriend repeated the same sentence she had been saying a few times each day since their appointment at the Ministry. They had both half expected some interference from Dumbledore, but luckily the goblins had been able to misplace some of the documents pertaining the restitutions to be taken from Dumbledore's vault, namely his bank statements. Therefore, he had been unaware anything was going on and unable to interfere. Still, the ministry worker had been mightily huffed at giving guardianship of _the _Harry Potter to a werewolf.

"Don't count on it," he let his more pessimistic, some might even call it realistic side answer her. "There's bound to be an invitation waiting for me to meet our esteemed headmaster today, no way did his spies at the ministry not report this to him."

"I know," came the sad answer from his girlfriend. "I just wish everyone would leave you in peace, just let you be Harry, or even _my _Harry when we're a bit older. Just not the _boy-who-lived_ or _the Harry Potter_. Damn prophecy."

Harry was caught on the wrong foot by her cursing, although he completely agreed with both content and choice of her words.

They met up with Tracey, Daphne and Neville, who they had shortly left behind for an extended goodbye from his gran. Both girls were ecstatic to see their friends again, and though Daphne was getting somewhat homesick already and missing her sister terribly they were in good spirits. Wizarding press had not gotten wind of Harry's change in guardianship yet, or rather the _mainstream _media had not, while the Quibbler was holding back the article for the issue to be printed the very next day, just in time for Harry to ride out the worst safely ensconced in Hogwarts.

The lack of publicity for this juicy news also gave him the great opportunity to give his friends the surprise of their young lives.

OOOOOOOO


	13. Chapter 13: Echoes of a Future Life

**Chapter 13: Echoes of a Future Life**

Harry had been right in assuming a summons from Dumbledore would await him when he entered the school. As soon as he stepped through the doors of the great hall, Professor McGonagall made a beeline for him.

"Mr. Potter, the headmaster requests for you to come to his office after dinner," she informed him briskly in that tone of voice that usually meant she expected to be obeyed, and without question. It was not to be this time, though.

"Thank you, Professor. Did he tell you what this was about?" Harry inquired, although he was quite sure he already knew enough to make an educated guess; there was also that little guess that he had, as to whether he would deign to inform his deputy.

"He did not explain it to me, no," came the expected answer. The old man never explained anything to anyone, just expected them to do as he commanded.

"Then I am afraid I will have to decline, Professor. I don't feel comfortable being alone with the headmaster, when he does not even see it fit to inform me of the reason for this summons," he replied, quite pleased with how sincere he sounded. Next to him, Hermione also looked a little indignant.

"Mr. Potter, it would be very rude to ignore an… invitation from the headmaster. This is a great honour; he does not often take personal interest in a student." McGonagall now looked mightily offended herself, as if the pure thought of defying the great Albus Dumbledore sickened her to her very core.

"Sorry, Professor, but I have to agree with Harry on this. An older man summoning a pupil to his office, without anyone else present and without informing either the student or their guardian of the reason for this would be considered highly inappropriate in the muggle educational system. Having studied Hogwarts' charter, I might add that the headmaster is entirely out of bounds there too," Hermione came to his aid, earning herself a smile a mile wide from her boyfriend. They had expected this message to play out exactly the way it had and were prepared. Dumbledore would rue the day he placed Harry in the muggle world where he supposedly learned to question everything.

"As Hermione said, if the headmaster wishes to see me on academic business he should inform both me and my guardian of the reason beforehand so we can make an appointment with both you and him present. Should he wish to speak to me privately, he should ask me himself and not send his deputy." Harry turned around, made his way for to the benches and sat down, leaving an indignant and completely flabbergasted deputy headmistress behind.

OOOOOOOO

The following day, classes started again as did work on Harry and Hermione's little project. They were almost certain what they had for a rune scheme worked out by now would do what they needed, but considering the enchantment fed directly into their sense of vision they wanted to be as sure as possible. It wouldn't do for one of them to lose their eyesight or having to face questioning as to why a first-year student was injured in such a way.

The couple was currently sitting in Transfiguration, poring over some of the complex diagrams required for accurate understanding of the powerful laws governing shape-changing magic. At least they would have been complicated, had they been normal first years. However, for Harry and to a lesser degree, Hermione, these were just mind-numbingly boring repetitions of tasks that had been almost automatic since fourth year at the latest. The only reason Hermione was not slipping away mentally like Harry was, as far as he could fathom, her unexplainable ability to keep concentrated under even the most mind-numbing conditions. She even managed to stay awake in Binns' history class. The second time she had to go through the whole thing.

"_Damn, Binns. He's another problem, dusty enough to be a duster in use since the founding of Hogwarts and older than some of the history he ought to be teaching," _Harry mused. _"A good professor would talk with us about the last war and about the stuff we learned from Augusta."_

His thought processes were halted when he heard McGonagall's stern voice beside his table. "Mr. Potter, if you have the time for day-dreaming, I assume you have already finished with your task?"

He had indeed already finished; something he could not wait to rub under McGonagall's nose. The first time around he had gotten along just fine with her, but with hindsight and a healthy amount of paranoia left from being on the run for almost a year, her willingness to unquestioningly bow to Dumbledore miffed him mightily. Unquestioning loyalty, the kind he had once foolishly given the headmaster, seemed silly, downright dangerous, these days.

"I have, Professor," he answered, holding his parchment out to her, completely covered in the finished diagrams. The professor's eyes grew slightly, along with Harry's amusement at her facial expression. It was not that he did not like the stern transfiguration mistress; it was more a general mistrust he now held of people in authority. Surprisingly, his new mistrust in people of power was only superseded by Hermione's, and the only reason he could come up with for that was 'the higher they rise, the deeper they fall'. Her conviction and trust towards teachers and leaders had been deep, and it had been disappointed. As far as Harry could tell, only a deep disappointment could lead to the amount of paranoia and resentment Hermione sometimes seemed to feel, without being completely aware of it herself.

"Very good, Mr. Potter," the Professor who had started it also ended his musing, only to start it anew with her parting comment. "Five points to Gryffindor."

"_Ah, yes. Those pesky house points," _he thought inwardly. Just before the holidays, he had used an especially boring History of Magic class to think about what had _caused _the rise of not one but two bad Hitler replicas, one of them even at the same time as the vile German dictator. And just as it had been in Germany in 1933, in Italy a few years earlier and in Japan, darkness always needed the right conditions to grow. The seeds were everywhere, as evil was as much a part of human nature as the capacity for immense good, and no one was only one of these, but only in the right environments could it fester and infect more than just a few minds, bring everything out of balance. Polarized, prejudiced societies with an abhorrent amount of unhappiness were just one of the ingredients for such environments.

"Sweetie, lighten up," his increasingly cynical thoughts about the human nature were interrupted by the incessant, yet extremely welcome voice of his girlfriend. "Your mood is so bad it's literally oozing out of you. What is going on?"

He just mouthed later and pointed towards the clock, showing they only had a few more minutes to go until break before their charms class. With all the things that tended to be flying around in that one, or otherwise doing rather strange things, it was usually an excellent place to hold covert conversations. Hermione accepted his postponing an answer with a slight frown and a gaze that told him to better be ready to come clean with her later.

This 'coming clean' indeed proved to happen during charms, as the diminutive charms teacher had them revising things from before the break, just to revitalize their brains from the Christmas stupor many of them were caught in. This gave the young couple the opportunity to discreetly place a few notice-me-not charms around them, followed by a muffliato, and have a nice, silent conversation.

"Now, what was going on inside your head that had you looking so morose?" Hermione started to interrogate him. By her whole attitude, her countenance, he could see she would not be averted.

"I was thinking about magical society and its dark lords. Then I started to think about that madman Hitler and what he did, then Mussolini and the Japanese Empire… The list is just too long," he related his thoughts dejectedly, receiving a sad nod in return. They had both seen their fair share of bad over the years. "Hermione, do you think humans are evil?"

Harry could see this was a question that, despite his most recent topic of brooding, surprised her. Not that he could fault her, he had never before been one for deep philosophical debates. She took on her 'thinking Hermione' face, an expression where she pursed her lips a little, coupled with a little frown while tilting her head slightly to the right. It was undeniably and extremely attractive.

"I… I don't know, Harry. We've tried to answer that question, we humans that is, for so long. I once even saw a post card asking the same question _'Are humans born good or bad?'_" she answered, sounding worried in a way only she could sound and only he could elicit in her. "You want to know what the answer was?" Harry nodded, a bit less enthusiastically than what was usual, but it was there. "Stupid, for the most part. Most will just follow people they trust, without question, whether what trust is misplaced or not. Who they trust depends on outside circumstances as much as personal deliberation."

Harry thought about this for a while before he came upon an idea, he was shockingly unappalled by. "Sometimes I just want to grab you, take you to one of those Potter properties, as far away from civilization as possible. Hide behind a Fidelius and let the magical world wallow in the misery they brought upon themselves," he muttered sadly, with such a small voice he could not overhear Hermione's slight gasp. "I don't say I will do it, but just remember how it was the last time. I fought and fought and fought and what did I get for it? Because of my hero status I am either coveted, which unluckily led to me being raped, or I am feared by the sheep and hated by the likes of Malfoy and Umbridge, all for something I don't even remember."

He had no idea what had brought on this mood today, maybe the memory of this past Christmas and the idea of how it should have been one of many, not a singular occurrence, or maybe the stress of questioning everything and everyone at every turn was finally getting to him.

"Oh, Harry," he heard Hermione sigh next to him. Looking at her face he could see the anguish she shared with him and how much she wanted to hug it all away. Unfortunately, this was the moment Flitwick chose to call the class to order.

OOOOOOOO

Harry spent the whole rest of the week in his funky mood, and even though his academic merits were not touched by it, people started noticing. People, in this case, mostly meant other students, because the staff at Hogwarts had shown time and again they were either inept at spotting, or disinterested in intervening in troubling psychological situations their students were in. This situation seemed to be no exception to that rule.

The one Harry's mood affected third-most, after Harry and Hermione, was Neville. Watching his friend so unhappy right after returning from Christmas with his family seemed to nibble at the boy's already sparse self-esteem. Therefore, Hermione cornered him in a hallway on Saturday to explain to him why Harry was acting the way he was acting, at least partly. Or rather, make up a reason that sounded real and would calm the boy down.

"Neville, this has nothing to do with you or your gran," she assured him for the third time already, but his face still showed a considerable amount of disbelief. Maybe Harry's problems with Augusta were somewhat limited, but the way her treatment of her grandson affected Neville, Hermione definitely would be having one with the older Longbottom, at some point in the future.

"But then why…" Neville started, prompting Hermione to finally follow through with her explanation.

"Because he is just sad, disillusioned, doubting everything. He has seen something this Christmas he never really had before…" Hermione trailed off, not really knowing how much Neville knew of Harry's deplorable so-called home life.

"It's okay, Hermione. I won't bring it up, whatever you tell me, but please do. I want to help him," Neville pleaded. He was obviously not above using the puppy eye routine on her when he was concerned about Harry. In Hermione's book, that was a point in his favour.

"Okay, but you can never, ever tell Harry I told you even just a little bit. He has been living with his aunt, the sister of his mother; she was jealous when Lily Potter, then Evans, went to Hogwarts. She shaped this jealousy into hatred of all things magical, unfortunately Harry is magical too," Hermione explained, already feeling guilty for betraying Harry's trust like this. She hoped he would understand, it was for their friend after all.

"I think this Christmas showed him what he did not have. He never really knew them, but he misses his parents, terribly. While we were with you and your gran he was constantly distracted from that, but when he came back here it just came back worse," Hermione continued. She had now told Neville almost anything she could without either terribly betraying Harry or revealing information from the other time line.

"But…" Neville began, but stopped himself shortly and took on a contemplative look. "Why would he remember that now? I mean, he is as distracted here as he was with us at the manor."

Hermione was in a quandary; how could she explain this to Neville? How could she explain to him how many bad memories this castle brought back for them both, how many things they would like to forget that had happened here?

"What is that title people call him?" she suddenly demanded from her companion, who only gave her an odd look in answer, before following up with some words, at last.

"The boy-who-lived, but what does that…" Again, Neville abruptly stopped, mid-sentence.

"To Harry, this means the boy-who-live-while-his-parents-died," she answered the question she read in his face. "And talk about that stupid nickname started up again the moment we got back here."

OOOOOOOO

Another half a week passed and Hermione was really starting to get worried. Being a friend, and now the girlfriend of Harry Potter was bound to have that consequence, but it could never have prepared her for the utter helplessness she was feeling at the moment. Her boyfriend had been downcast, moody, brooding and all the bad things she remembered him being when he thought he was possessed by Voldemort in the old timeline, when he had been living in the fear of having attacked Mr. Weasley. Only this time, it was even worse.

Neville had told her that Harry was also having nightmares, of what she did not know. Her best guess was that they were of the night Ginny had defiled him, for Neville had reported he kept insulting someone as a bitch while at the same time pleading for that same person to stop whatever they were doing. Even the hugs she had grown accustomed to giving and receiving were no solution, because his already intense dislike of physical contact had only grown to the extreme. In the whole one and a half weeks she had not been kissed by him once, and it hurt. She knew it was not Harry's fault, but it still cut her deeply.

After another episode of Harry just staring in the distance, completely devoid of any reaction to anyone trying to talk to him, she had had enough and went to the school nurse.

"Madam Pomfrey, please, you have to help him?" she pleaded with the stern matron. This was another person she did not trust; surely, she had seen the signs of abuse in Harry the last time, she was a medical professional. Still, out of all the possibilities she had available in the castle, the nurse was the only one she even partly considered appropriate for the problem.

"He is not really talking, not eating properly and hardly sleeping, if what Neville says is true." Hermione heard the anguish in her voice, but could not stop it from bleeding through. Actually, she was quite proud of how together she was.

"I don't know what you expect me to do, Ms. Granger. I am a school nurse, not a mind healer. Even those are specialised in dealing with mind magic, not what the muggles would probably classify as a psychiatric disorder," the school nurse said, looking at her sternly.

"Please, can't you at least take a look at him, help his body with the physical symptoms and get him a mind healer?" she implored the nurse, hoping to get at least this much.

"Fine, I will do what I can, if you can get him here and consent to treatment," Pomfrey finally gave in with an exasperated sigh and a sad expression on her face that belied that same exasperation.

Elated, or at least as close to that as she had been the last week and a half, Hermione made her way to Gryffindor tower.

OOOOOOOO


	14. Chapter 14: Recesses of the Mind

**Chapter 14: Recesses of the Mind**

Velvety blackness was all around and inside him, somehow warm and comforting, more comforting than something this dark should be. It was not an ordinary darkness, though. This was not the absence of light, or the lack thereof, this was complete and utter void. Absolute nothingness.

It was steeped in possibilities, imagination and promises.

Within the void, suddenly he could see a light, bright and shining. Almost blinding him. Inside the light there was a human figure, but he could not make it out clearly behind the halo of light. It reminded him of the pictures of angels he had seen before.

There were also sounds, weird sounds he could not really put a meaning to, beyond that they belonged to beings that were vaguely familiar.

"_Voices, they're called voices," _the voice inside his head popped up. Yes, that was what they were, voices. However, before he could investigate his findings further, the bright figure faded away again, and the velvety nothingness reclaimed him.

OOOOOOOO

"Harry! Harry, please… please wake up," a female voice pleaded next to him. He was lying inside a comfortable bed, the air around him smelling in this way too clean way he associated with… what was the word?

"_Hospitals," _it came to him.

"Harry, please come back to me." There was that voice again. It was starting to grate on his nerves, the way it continued to disturb his peace. Yet somehow that voice was familiar, comforting.

"Oh, Harry." Again, but now the voice seemed to be sobbing. Harry, that seemed to be his name. Very good to know. Suddenly, he felt a weight settle onto the right side of his body, around his tummy, while slender arms gripped that side's arm tenderly, but hard. It seemed the voice was afraid he might go away.

He did not want to go, did not want to leave the comforting voice, but all this thinking was oh so tiring and soon, emptiness came back.

OOOOOOOO

This was odd.

The blackness he, Harry, had grown accustomed to was gone. It had been replaced the moment he came around at least somewhat again; it was more of a… greyness now. He could still feel the weight on his tummy, curiously though it now came from the other side.

Somehow the grey reminded him of something, something he had once known quite well.

Light! What did he need light for? Eyes.

He, who thought himself to be Harry, now opened his, a groan escaping his dry mouth. It seemed he had one of these voice thingies, too. The moment said groan left his mouth, the weight on his stomach had moved away, while the grip on his arm had changed to his hand.

"Harry?" The voice questioned. Forcing his gaze upon the source of that voice revealed a mass of bushy… hairs and cinnamon brown eyes. "Wait just a minute; I'll get your glasses so you can see properly."

"No," Harry croaked out. "See just fine."

He could see the voice produce a new expression he did not immediately recognize, perhaps surprise?

"You're in St. Mungo's, potion damage ward," she started to inform him. "I found you in the Room of Requirement because I wanted to bring you to Madam Pomfrey; you were just lying on the ground, barely breathing." At this, she returned her head, which Harry now realized had been the strange weight, to his stomach and added a strong grip around his waist. "They would not let me stay with you during the week, I had to go back there without you, but I'm so happy you're finally awake."

The voice, no… girl, started crying again.

However, there was something he desperately needed to know. "Just one… question. Who are you?"

OOOOOOOO

"Mr. Lupin, I am terribly sorry, but I cannot answer that with any certainty," Senior Healer Young repeated for the third time in around half an hour. He had treated some children in his time, and even more adults, but this case was beyond anything he had ever seen. Conjuring up false hopes now could only lead to more heartbreak in the future. "All I can tell you is that a number of things severely messed with your ward's mind. There was some residue of dark magic, almost parasitic in nature which we removed. That would have been much harder had it been at full power, whatever it was."

He shuddered at the thought of that; the lad would surely have died in that case. Using his 'panicking parent' voice, he continued, "Then there were at least two mind-altering potions at work, a loyalty and a revulsion potion. Those two, in combination with the dark magic I spoke of, really messed around with young Harry's brain. From what I could see, at least memory and speech areas were hit, most likely more. Considering the gibberish Ms. Granger relayed he talked when he woke up, and how he did not seem to recognize her, that's the closest I can get to a guess."

He could see how deeply this hit the man who he refused to think of as a werewolf, in front of him. Still, unembellished truth tended to be the best cause of action in this situation. "I would recommend the following: We put him back to sleep, now that we know there is still something of his mind left to work with. We will have to disable the power binding on him to let his mind heal itself, but I warn you now; the boy, if he wakes up, might not be the same boy you have known before, because we have no idea what his mind healing will erase, leave behind or reveal."

Mr. Lupin took a deep sigh, closed his eyes, almost in defeat, and then gazed right into Young's eyes. "What are his chances, and please don't lie to me."

This was it, mused the Senior Healer. Damn it, it never got any easier. "At best, I give him 60 to 70% chance of survival, slightly higher if we don't unbind his power. The chances of him being who he was before? I can't say really, but if we leave his magic bound, almost non-existent."

"So, either way, I risk killing Harry, in a way?" the distraught, maybe even the word parent fit, asked back.

"Yes, that is exactly the dilemma you are facing. However, if we keep him from helping himself, he will most likely stay the way Ms. Granger described him as, because I don't dare to give him any more potions that would affect his mind, after the mess someone else already made. So either we unbind him and the risk of his death increases, or he will stay like this," he summed up the sad facts, There was of course more to it, different brain regions addled, neural pathways severely scrambled, but the relatives of patients rarely wanted to hear those things. Most of the time, they were simply not relevant.

OOOOOOOO

Hermione Granger was currently sharing a bed with her boyfriend, something she had been looking forward to for quite some time now.

She had expected things to be different for that occasion.

She had expected him to tell her how much she meant to him, tell her good night and to hold her close. This situation did not even remotely compare to any of that. Instead, her Harry was in a hospital bed, unresponsive to most stimuli, just like he had been for the last eight days. The one time he had awoken, he had been talking utter nonsense and with such a conviction she could only surmise he thought he was making perfect sense.

However, the worst thing had been his eyes: Haunted, empty and, what hurt most, not a shred of the love or recognition in them she would usually see when he looked at her.

It had been this morning, just after her arrival in the private room of the Neural ward and her usual short talk with Remus.

Said man now stepped through the door silently, throwing a warm, yet very sad smile at Hermione and her position cuddled up next to Harry. He had guessed, and informed her of it, the closer relationship than simple friends between the two 'children', and while he did not exactly approve, they were eleven and twelve, after all, he could not really do anything against it.

"Hermione, I think we should talk, I need to tell you about what the healer told me. You know Harry better than I do, so I will at least listen to your opinion before I decide anything for him." In a sombre tone Remus informed Hermione of how it stood with Harry and of the odds he was facing. Hermione had been crying a lot the last week, but nothing came even close to this. For nearly twenty minutes Remus was unable to get anything productive out of her, so focused was she on soaking through her boyfriend's pyjama with her tears and holding onto him for dear life, as if letting go would leave him open to just float away.

Ultimately, she knew Harry would always go all or nothing.

"Unbind his magic. The Harry I know would never want this half-life, trust me."

OOOOOOOO

A thoroughly depressed group of first year students was hanging around the great hall after dinner, for lack of a better spot. Considering the group contained Slytherins, Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, neither of which were welcome in the others' common rooms and there were no other rooms available, they had decided on the questionable privacy of the great hall to mourn the continued absence of one of their own.

It had been two weeks, two very lonely weeks since Harry had woken from his, for lack of a better word, coma. Shortly after her talk with Remus, Harry had been given the draught of living death to shut his body down as much as possible while his newly unbound magic could do the healing.

Two weeks in which Hermione had been unable to function correctly. She had received more 'barely passed' in the time since he had been brought to St. Mungo's than in the _whole _other timeline. As for the others, they fared better, but none of them were not weighed down, and had they not been weighed down by Harry's absence and illness, Hermione's complete and utter devastation would surely have done the trick.

However, there was one thing Hermione had been able to do: Ascertain those guilty for his murder, should Harry… should Harry not… She had been unable to even think it, not that she really wanted to.

From what she had seen, she was sure she knew who the guilty parties were by their reaction to the news Harry was in St. Mungo's neural ward. Firstly, there had been, she could hardly believe it, Percy Weasley. He had been easy to spot, because the minute the news had been delivered by McGonagall, not of Harry's actual state, but of his current residence, he had turned a pure white even Hedwig would have been proud of.

The second clue had been less pronounced, but visible all the same, especially because she was looking for it. Dumbledore had a slight panicky reaction, but not at hearing Harry was in the hospital, but at the mention of the Potion ward, where Harry had been before his transfer to the… Oh damn it; it is a neurological ward, not a neural ward.

The last weeks had even seen prim and proper Hermione Granger swear from time to time. At that moment the snowy owl she had just thought about winged her way through the windows of the great hall, filling the girl with an odd mixture of anxiety, fear and relief.

"_This is it Granger, this decides whether… whether…_" Not even Hermione's inside voice, it had stopped sounding like Harry, because that just hurt too much, could finish that particular thought. The white owl, who had insisted on staying with Remus and her human landed in front of Hermione, silent as a shadow and held her leg out to Hermione with a small scroll.

With trembling fingers Hermione went for the little missive, but she was so apprehensive she could not get her hands to hold still enough for her to actually get the message. On the third unsuccessful try, a very white and slender hand took hers and pulled it away, only to go for the parchment itself. Hermione gave Daphne a thankful look and waited for her to read it out.

"It says here that… Harry is waking up, you're supposed to come there as soon as possible," she read out, eliciting immense feelings of celebration from the whole group.

Only ten minutes later, Hermione was already on her way to Professor McGonagall's office where she had used the floo before to get to Harry in St. Mungo's at her weekend visits. Purposefully she stepped up to the Professor's door and knocked, maybe just a tad more loudly than she usually would.

"Come in," she heard the strained and slightly annoyed Scottish brogue from behind the door. Normally, this would make her nervous, but not today. The girl pushed the door open and entered with a beaming smile.

"Hello Professor, can I please use your floo? Harry is waking up," she proclaimed enthusiastically, receiving as close to a smile as one could from Minerva McGonagall. One might think of her what one wanted, and neither she nor Harry fully trusted her, but she obviously cared about her students.

"Of course, Ms. Granger, but I will have to come with you, since it is so late in the day and your visit is unscheduled," the stern transfiguration teacher explained, although Hermione thought she might just have wanted to come along anyway. Well, what she would find Hermione did not think she would like, because Remus was quite put out with Hogwarts for what had befallen his charge.

A dusting of floo powder and then ash later, Hermione found herself in the ward's nurse station where healer Young was already expecting her. He threw the teacher coming in after her a wary glance, almost as if he also had issues with Hogwarts. Now that she thought about it, it would only be natural for him to be just a little suspicious.

They were led into Harry's private room, all the while the healer informed Hermione, much more than the professor at least, of Harry's current condition. "Your friend is still a little dizzy, but as far as we can tell he remembers almost everything. We also found the reason for his behaviours before this all started; he had been cursed with something we call _Carnificia Animi_; it messes with your mind, makes you remember your worst memories and think all your darkest thoughts. The name of the spell means 'torture of the spirit'. Putting all this together, he really is lucky to have pulled through."

Hermione though did not really react to that anymore, because they had reached Harry's room, opened the door and there he was sitting.

His emerald eyes were looking at her. A she could see recognition there. Without further ado she ran towards his bed and threw herself into his waiting arms.

"Hey, you, it's good to have you back with us," she whispered after some minutes of nearly cuddling the stuffing out of him. Someone clearing their throat behind her pulled her back to reality.

"Mr. Potter, my congratulations on your recovery. I will be in the hallway for ten minutes, and then we have to go back to the castle. Understood, Ms Granger?" McGonagall ordered in her no-nonsense voice.

Said Ms. Granger was still holding on to her boyfriend tightly, not quite believing he was back with her.

"It's good to see you too," he whispered in her ear. "Just so we're clear, the fact I remember the future is actually true, right? Not some weird hallucination?"

She could only motivate herself to nod her head on his chest because any more movements would have meant distance between the two. However, so close to him she could not fail to notice how frail his body seemed, with his ribs and sternum actually distinctly palpable against her cheek. An inordinate amount of anger filled her at the thought of what she could have lost, what they both could have lost, just over the petty grievances of someone who wanted to influence Harry in their interest.

"That's it Harry, there will be no prisoners after this," she mumbled against his haggard thorax, proud of how fierce she sounded despite her position. "Whoever did this will pay with the worst thing we can think of for them."

"I agree, but I think this is actually not what they wanted to achieve here," Harry said lowly, almost whispering with weakness. "Look at it, the spell and the potions don't fit together, really. Anyone who wanted to drug me would know at least that much, especially if it is Dumbledore. What did you see in Hogwarts?"

Thinking back, Hermione relayed her observations. "I would say it was Dumbledore and Percy, the latter probably under orders, I don't think he has any interest in dosing or bewitching you himself. If I were to guess, it would be the spell and the loyalty potion coming from Dumbledore and the revulsion potion curtesy of the Weasleys. That 'dark magic residue' has got to be some remnant from Voldemort's soul piece." She shuddered at the thought of that _thing _sharing her Harry's head.

"Sounds… reasonable," Harry wheezed out, nearly prompting the girl lying on him to panic.

"Harry, is everything okay? I'm not hurting you, am I?" she fired off in one breath. He shook his head, only to grimace even more and moan a little. "I'll get a healer, just hold on."

Hermione stormed out of the room, almost colliding with Healer Young who was about to enter it.

"Ms. Granger, what's with the hurry?" he inquired of the _very _concerned little witch, only to be grabbed by the shoulder and pulled into the room, all the while listening to her description.

"I'm not sure, but I think Harry has a bad headache. We were just talking; I have no idea why it started. I really hope I didn't…"

"You did not, calm yourself. It is perfectly normal for Mr. Potter to have bouts of headache at the moment. I will just give him his pain potion and then you and Mr. Lupin can stay for talking about the course of treatment," he interrupter her breathless rant calmly, gripping both her shoulders to halt her nigh unstoppable way toward the bed.

Five minutes and some intense haggling with Professor McGonagall later, Hermione was sitting on a chair next to Harry's bed (she would rather have sat on the bed) and listening to the healer talk, together with Harry and Remus.

"Good news first: Despite the severity of his condition, I don't see a reason for Ms. Granger to not cuddle with her boyfriend while we talk about this. It can only help with his progress, and I imagine it will be good for her too." Looking at the astonished faces staring back at him, he added, "You're not the first couple I've seen that was this young. As a healer it is not my place to judge, just know what will be best for my patients. At the moment, you Ms. Granger are good for my patient."

Happy, but also a little annoyed they had been caught, especially in front of Lupin, who might already have known about them, but whom they did not trust enough for him to be given a reminder, Hermione eagerly relocated from the chair to next to Harry. Now, basking in the happiness of feeling his arm around her waist, she gave the healer her full attention again.

"To that end, also because there's not more I can do, I will have young Mr. Potter transferred to the Hogwarts Infirmary. What he needs most now is human contact, which will be much easier to get once there. You will have your boyfriend with you on Monday," he finished with an indulgent smile and a little wink at Hermione, who promptly went to celebrate a little with Harry. Not much, they were still 'kids', as much as it annoyed her, but a few kisses could do no harm, could they.

"However," the healer started up again, this time in much graver a tone, "Mr. Potter's symptoms before his coma worry me. They are indeed the symptoms of _Carnificia Animi_, but for that spell to take hold, there must be something there it can hold onto. This means, while what you experienced is way beyond what can be expected of your mental issues, at least for the foreseeable future, you are in severe need of tackling some things. I will let that stand as it is, but just remember: It is no shame to seek help."

With that rather ominous though understandable statement, the healer left the room, quickly followed by Remus.

"I meant it Harry, whoever _those _were that did this to you, they will pay," Hermione exclaimed passionately. In her mind, she was already working on what would hurt those guilty the most. Helping Percy get rid of his prefect's badge would probably be a good start…

"I know, and I will help with that…" Harry answered, still very lowly and in a measured pace, "but first has to be our protection. How are the glasses going?"

Under Harry's expectant look, Hermione quivered a little. Normally she would be the reasonable one, the one to argue well thought out responses. With Harry hurt, however, her protective side ran rampant, so to speak; just like his would with her safety on the line. "I did not really get anything done, sorry. I just couldn't concentrate," she responded a little shamefully.

"That's okay. Give it one more week and they'll be done anyway. Yours still look great, by the way," he chuckled, then he went still. Not in the eerie way she had grown accustomed to lately, but in a peaceful, content one. Minutes later she noticed he had fallen into a deep sleep.

OOOOOOOO

It was Sunday morning right after breakfast and Hermione had finally gotten a good night's sleep. Now, there was a project to work on. While Harry had said the glasses would take just another week, the recent developments and the rather intense scare they had given her, combined with her finally being able to concentrate on anything besides his condition again, had made her quite determined.

"_See, Harry, I can be just as stubborn and determined as you," _she chuckled inwardly, while going over the rune sequence tying the information from the enchantments on the glasses into the visual sense of the user. As all seemed to be in order there she moved on to the trigger, you just had to tap the temple to activate or deactivate the enchantment, and the mental control sequence.

"_Nothing wrong there either… Now comes the big one," _the young inventor mused. The sensory and identification sequence was the corner stone of the whole design, the rest was more for ease (and secrecy) of use; it had not been that hard to find and apply a fitting enchantment for revealing the ingredients of things, but the problem had been the sheer amount of information the runic modification of _Scarpin's Revelaspell _in combination with a _Specialis Revelio _for low level curses was supplying. In the end, they had had to tie that particular function to the wearer's mind using the mental control sequence as a link. Now, focusing one's intent on the object one wanted to 'scan', as they had called it, called up whatever the two spells could find for ingredients before the user's eyes, and only theirs.

Both Hermione and Harry were quite proud of their achievement, and while Hermione still had been forced to do most of the finer work, Harry's ideas and intuition with runes had very much helped them during development.

At one point the idea had come up to have an automatic identification system for anything along the lines of potions the enchantments detected, but that would require the storage of knowledge, which neither of them had any idea how to achieve inconspicuously. While using the mental link would have been possible for that, to at least identify anything the user knew with the found ingredients, this would have made the mental link two-way, instead of just one way. It was a 'dent' in their mental armour neither of the two, being anything but confident in their occlumency, wanted. The visual link just transmitted directly into the optic nerve, no mental connection required whatsoever, and that was how they wanted it for the time being.

The last bit was actually fairly standard as far as enchantments went and they had been able to find it in the books about magical optometry; unbreakable, never falling of the wearer's face, self-cleaning and adjusting to the user's visual acuity, all fairly standard.

Almost the entire morning had passed when she finished with her second sweep of the runes, still without finding any mistake in them. It was now time for something she really wished she did not have to do.

Hermione asked the room for two large pieces of wood, one of which she place to the side while the other made its way into her hands. Under her skilful use of transfiguration, it transformed into a handsome specimen of spectacles. Setting her blank down, she made for the great hall where the group of her friends already awaited her.

For this day, they were sharing the Hufflepuff table with Hannah and Susan who, as the loyal and friendly Hufflepuffs they were, were nearly as excited about Harry coming back as Hermione, even if it was a comeback to the hospital wing. All through the meal Hermione was distracted, which the others luckily attributed to her being fidgety about Harry's health.

Soon after, she was back on the seventh floor, working on her contraptions. Actually, etching the runes into the limited surface area of the frame would not work, at least not in its natural form. A quick 'Engorgio' later, however, there was enough surface area available on the inside of the frame to put the completed enchantment on, while also being protected from overly curious eyes.

Working the delicate runes, from different languages and alphabets even, into the wooden frame took most of the afternoon. Time to do what she already regretted beforehand; Hermione took the second piece of wood and, with some more transfiguration magic, she had an extremely cute rhesus ape sitting before her.

"I'm sorry, little guy, I hope nothing bad happens to you," she told the small primate and ruffled the surprisingly docile, unwitting participant in her safety test under his chin. This really was quite distasteful, but so much safer than her or Harry testing the glasses for the first time. With a cheering and several compulsion charms she made sure it would go as easy and stress-free as possible and then put the glasses on his nose.

One minute passed. Then two. Three.

The rhesus ape was looking at her curiously through the window glass in front of his eyes, and then extended his neck for her to continue petting him. Hermione gave a relieved sigh; the little one seemed to be okay. But why did it have to be such a cute animal.

"_Come on Granger, he's fine. And it had to be one of these, because their brains are so close to that of humans," _her inner voice, with his gradual convalescence now sounding like Harry again, reminded her.

"Right," she said out loud. "A few diagnostic charms and that should be it. Whatever should I do with you then?" she asked the monkey, already sure she would not quite manage to vanish him after subjecting him to this danger. He would revert back to a log soon enough, until then she would just leave him in the room to himself, she decided. He would be quite content in the room of hidden things and before soon, he would transform back to a simple piece of wood.

OOOOOOOO


	15. Chapter 15: Back to the Chaos

**Chapter 15: Back to Another Kind of Chaos**

Through the cold air of a January morning, an owl named Hermes was winging his way toward a small but very high, rickety house somewhere in Devon, observed by a little blond girl in her warmest winter clothes.

The girl was on the way to her friend, her only friend, for a short visit and to talk things out between them after the massive argument they had had a few days earlier. The child still had no idea how that had come to pass; all she knew was, that her friend's continued ranting interspersed with dreamily whispering 'Mrs. Potter, Lady Potter, Duchess Potter, Ginny Potter' and everything along those lines was starting to get worrisome. She had not really wanted to say anything, considering the lively redhead was her only friend, but if your friend is in danger, which the girl thought Ginny certainly was, you had to act.

So, she had asked Ginny about it, about the boy she proclaimed she loved and who would marry her, and Ginny had completely blown up on her. Her mother was not helping either, with her continued proclamations of how great a mother Ginny would be for the new Potter children, with how much she looked like the late Lily Potter. It was downright creepy.

But at least she still had a mother.

OOOOOOOO

It was Monday, 10th of February. This date would from then on onwards be a red letter day for Hermione Granger, because her Harry was coming back to her. Granted, he still had to stay in the hospital wing for a week at least, hidden away under the 'gentle' care of Madame Pomphrey, but at least she could see him. Every single day.

The exuberantly pleasant anticipation had made her able to hold back from first cursing Dumbledore (she thought his crooked nose would make a great target), then hitting Draco (he had been lamenting Harry's general inaptitude, even at dying properly), setting fire to Snape's cloak like she had during Harry's first ever Quidditch match (he just always rubbed her the wrong way) and finally doing Merlin-knows-what to Percy 'Pompous Prefect' Weasley. She had started to contemplate feeding him to Fluffy, but that seemed like a bad idea, considering it would not only fall back on Dumbledore, which would have been quite fine by her, but also on Hagrid; she did not trust the big guy as far as she could throw him, he was just too much a blabbermouth for that, but she would never want him tried for someone dying due to Dumbledore's risky decisions.

Somewhat mollified by Harry's imminent return, she had accepted the Weasley twins' evil grins toward Snape, Malfoy and their own brother as suitable down payment for any revenge due later.

Nevertheless, she kept constant watch on the three menaces she had pegged as suspects in Harry's most recent brush with death. This morning it seemed to be Percy 'Pompous Prefect' Weasley who needed watching, as he (or rather the porridge bowl) had just received a parcel tied to the Weasley family owl, the shape and size of which let her think of a potions vial. It really was ridiculously easy to smuggle stuff in here.

She did not have to wait long for the first part of the twins' plan to go off; over at the Slytherin table she could see Draco Malfoy grabbing his face in horror, his skin bubbling and shifting. She recognised these effects, of course, though she had no idea how the twins had gotten their hands on polyjuice potion.

Before short there was a Harry Potter lookalike sitting between the first-year snakes, decked out in green-rimmed Slytherin robes and with a horrified expression at pretty much the whole hall laughing at him. Pansy, visibly holding back her laughter too, finally took 'pity' with him and held her make-up mirror in front of his face, on which the Malfoy heir commented by producing the most pitiful (and deservedly so) scream she had ever heard from him. Just moments later, Draco rushed out of the wall in what he seemingly took for dignified pacing. To Hermione, it looked more like a very disorderly retreat and judging from other people's reactions, she was not the only one to think so.

She would only have to brave this day, then she would see Harry again. With there being only Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs in her classes on Mondays, she would probably manage without seriously hurting anyone.

OOOOOOOO

Harry was having the dubious joy of experiencing magical transport for sick people. This meant he was being transported neither via floo, nor apparition or portkey; the healer had said these would all be detrimental to his continued and steady recuperation. Instead, he was chauffeured around in something that seemed to be under some of the same enchantments as the knight bus, the only difference being that the driver was much better. How this could be conducive to his health was anyone's guess.

Nothing could be said against its speed however, and barely an hour after leaving St. Mungo's in London the strange vehicle was approaching a castle-like school in the Scottish Highlands. He was unloaded by an uncommonly large accompaniment of healers and nurses, as pretty much everyone who had children at Hogwarts had claimed to be needed for this transport; Harry had the distinct feeling there would be a number of children getting magical examinations from their parents, just to make sure Harry was the only one with potion exposure.

Valiantly but obviously ultimately senselessly arguing against being levitated on a stretcher, the returning student was awaited at the large gate of Hogwarts by none other than Professor McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore, so at least one member of his reception committee was very unwelcome. At least healer Young had informed him any mental contact with him at the moment would be highly detrimental to whoever tried it, due to he still fragmented state of his mind. Of course, it would not be good for Harry's recovery either, but given that it would just add a few days onto his recuperation time, he could probably live with the trade.

"Harry, how good it is to have you back here," he was cheerily greeted by the old meddler he had been hoping to avoid as long as possible. Well, nothing to be done against it right now.

"Headmaster, I don't know you, so I would ask you to call me Mr. Potter," he said in as friendly a voice he could manage at the moment. "Sir," he added with a completely deniable hint of sarcasm. Dumbledore looked slightly taken aback and a slight frown graced his features, which he was quick to hide.

"_Ha, take that 'Wise Grandpa Albus'," _Harry chuckled inwardly.

"Of course… Mr. Potter," Dumbledore acquiesced, all the while looking like he had eaten something extremely bitter (considering he liked sour things). "I'll need to discuss with your healers what happened to you." The sage look on the old man's face would have fooled a different Harry, something he was not proud to admit. This new Harry, though, knew his rights.

"I'm very sorry Professor, but that is not going to happen. That falls under a healer's confidentiality oaths, and considering there is not much that happens inside Hogwarts without your knowledge, you will understand I don't fully trust you with that kind of information at the moment," Harry explained, now noticing a hint of anger in the old blue eyes. Also, there was that 'just bitten into a grapefruit' expression again, which he decided he liked seeing on the old man's face.

"_Shit, his eyes," _was the only thing he had time to think before he could feel the old meddler's mind invading his own, thrashing through his severely weakened occlumentic barriers. It was not pleasant, but what Albus showed in his face was far beyond that: his eyes widened in shock at whatever Harry's fractured mind was doing to his foiled legilimency attack. Barely ten seconds after his attempted intrusion had begun it relented, when a severely pale headmaster fell down to the ground, his eyes twitching around erratically behind his closed lids.

"Mr. Potter, what did you do?" an outraged Professor McGonagall demanded from her student, obviously completely disregarding the fact said student had neither touched nor drawn his wand on the _great _Albus Dumbledore.

"Professor, I would appreciate it, if you would temper your responses concerning my ward. The ward that has been severely injured while under your questionable auspices," the icy voice of Remus Lupin cut in. "And just so you know, the healers told us this is what would happen if anyone not schooled in dealing with damaged minds would receive when trying to mentally interact with Harry right now. Considering these two certainly don't share a telepathic connection nor did they just establish a Memory Link, the headmaster just tried to perform legilimency on a sick student who decided to use his right of patient confidentiality."

"Albus would never…" McGonagall started what would probably have been her own rant about what a great man her friend Albus was, but she was interrupted by the boy on the stretcher.

"No need… to start with that…" he managed to utter despite his new bout of massive tiredness. "You believe what you will. Just ask him what happened here, see if you are happy with… his explanation," he finished ominously before sleep claimed him.

OOOOOOOO

Senior Healer C.G. Young was having a splendid day so far. His most recent touch-and-go case had been transferred to the Hogwarts Infirmary that morning, almost completely healthy and with only a short period of further convalescence needed. Not all cases ended that well, but children were hardy.

His happiness was rudely interrupted by the chime calling the on-duty mind-healer to emergency admittance; the message board next to the door gave him further information.

"**110 YEAR OLD MALE, SUSPECTED MENTAL DAMAGE AFTER CONTACT WITH FRACTURED MIND,"**it showed in bright red letters on black ground. While he was already on the way to the correct room, fast walking, never running or apparating (danger of self-injury) he thought about the proclaimed diagnosis.

"_Suspected mental damage after contact with fractured mind," _he mused. _"Fractured minds are quite rare, and the only at least halfway common mental contact would be legilimency. Whoever that patient is, probably tried to invade Mr. Potter's mind."_

This conclusion did not really cheer the normally happy healer up; that boy's mind was just on the way to mend itself and someone had to play around with it again already. He had of course asked a little about the possible ways the lad could have come in contact with the potions and the _Carnificia Anima_ though neither Ms. Granger nor Mr. Lupin had been rather forthcoming. Be that as it may, he was quite ready to bet a significant amount of galleons that the person he was about to receive as a patient had had their hand in Potter's poisoning.

In emergency admittance he was greeted by a rather unusual sight: An extremely high number of witches and wizards (all from the Hogwarts contingent, if he was not mistaken) bustling about with scowls on their faces, the whole chaos surrounding a stretcher with an old man, clothed in garishly coloured robes and skin as white as his monumental beard.

"_So old man Dumbledore had a hand in nearly killing the boy-who-lived, who would have thought? Damn, this job gets you the best gossip, yet you're never allowed to spread it. I'd refuse to treat him, but then he would know I had contact with young Mr. Potter, and I already know he is not above using legilimency to get the information he wants." _All these thoughts were running through his mind with lightning speed while he started to treat the 'leader of the light'; that title was starting to sound rather hollow inside his head.

OOOOOOOO

"What is going on… never mind!" Was all Hermione could hear from Madame Pomfrey as she stormed into the hospital wing. Quickly taking in the room she realised there was only one bed he could be occupying, the one behind the privacy screens next to the windows. She made a beeline for the bed and, looking around the barrier she was greeted by two bright green eyes.

"Hey you," her boyfriend said cheekily, holding his arms open for her to rush into, an invitation she followed all too willingly. For a few minutes they just stayed like this, Harry sitting in his bed and Hermione standing beside it, encircled in his arms. "I've missed you," he whispered in her ear, eliciting a small tingle going down her spine. Not the kind of tingle she would have liked (her body had a bit of growing to do for that tingle to happen), but nevertheless very welcome.

Her face pressed into Harry's shoulder, Hermione had to work a little to make herself understood and with a slight chuckle in her voice she answered him, "You just saw me yesterday. I know what you mean though, and I missed you too."

They released each other from their embrace, prompting Hermione to climb upon the bed next to Harry. Over the covers, naturally; inviting the Dragon of the Hospital Wing's wrath was never a good idea. Snuggled up to her Harry, listening to his heartbeat calmed her down immensely and another few minutes passed by before Hermione started speaking again.

"How are you? And don't you dare trying to sell me that 'I'm fine' stuff," she inquired, adding the last bit out of learned wisdom. Harry was always fine, because that was what he had been engrained with since being a toddler.

"Please, don't get angry with me, but I actually am," Harry answered. Seeing her confused look, he added, "Fine, I really am. I just get tired rather quickly when I try to concentrate, because being in my head at the moment is… let's say demanding, and even that only for me."

That actually was a more comprehensive answer than Hermione had expected and while containing the word fine, it still would do. "What do you mean 'only for you'?"

"Well our _esteemed_," the boy started to inform her, giving the last word an amount of sarcasm that would suffice for a normal consumer's yearly use, " headmaster recently found out that navigating my mind is quite… demanding at the moment. I wouldn't be surprised if he were now lying in the same room, I was in." Harry chuckled darkly, sporting a vindictive smile. "Serves him right for trying to read the mind of a student he himself made sick to find out what his healers said."

Hermione gave him a warm smile. It really was poetic justice, though one thing he had said worried her. "What was that about a 'fractured mind'? Do I have to be worried? And answer truthfully!" To reinforce her message she levelled a semi-serious glare at him.

"Actually not. It just means my mind is still putting itself back together. Concentrating is really draining, but that should be over in a week, even with Dumbledore's prodding today," the boy answered in as earnest a voice as she had ever heard him talking in.

"Good, because I need you back with me," Hermione muttered against his bony chest. Looking up into his eyes, through his glasses she smiled mischievously, "By the way, I finished the glasses. Even tested them."

The slightly smug young witch could see she had surprised her wizard, who by now should actually be well used to surprising efforts from her.

"That's great. How did you test them?" the astonished wizard demanded, only to take on a slightly worried expression. "Not on yourself, right?"

"No," she replied energetically, though she still felt a little ashamed at her way of testing their creation. "I transfigured a little rhesus ape for it. I called him Johnny."

Harry, by now able to gauge her mood, if not always emotionally equipped to handle it, put his hand to her cheek and caressed it. "And from your good mood I take it he is quite fine. Let me guess; you left him in the Room?" Receiving an abashed little nod he continued, "Then he will be happy there until he transforms back to whatever you used as a basis."

"I know, and I really love transfiguration, but did you never feel like transforming a beetle to a button is kind of… killing it?" She snorted about her own question. Really, there were more important ones to ask right that moment. "What about our plans?"

"I suppose, and that might just be the headache talking, that you should go for the stone tonight. With Dumbledore out of the way, Quirrell might make his move earlier than we thought. Now that we have the cloak and the map, it should be well manageable. Maybe you could even set up our own little ward if you can find a crystal to power it. That way we know when Quirrelmort shows up," Harry suggested with an apologetic look at her.

Hermione sighed once, looked at him sceptically and sighed a second time. He was right, but she had hoped they would be able to do this together. "I suppose I should. I will look inside the Room of Hidden Things for a crystal and then get the stone later this night. Quirrell won't do anything tonight, I'm sure McGonagall will be trying to keep Dumbledore's condition quiet, but I bet he'll try tomorrow; the stone should not be there with him."

OOOOOOOO

It was around two in the morning that the curtain of Hermione Granger's four-poster drew back revealing exactly… nothing. The same nothing then made its way to the door of the form room and down the stairs, through the common room and the portrait hole ("Who's there? Never mind I was sleeping!"). She had her book bag slung over her shoulder, containing a small musical box, a length of rope, the heavily warded crate meant for keeping the Philosopher's Stone safe, healthy doses of the potions required for passing through the flame-riddle and a small crystal she had indeed found inside the Room of Requirement. She had been forced to scrape off the topmost layer of the stone to erase some former enchantments, their runes old enough to have decayed so much as to be completely unintelligible. Afterwards she had added her own little alarm ward, although without the usual sequence used to power the ward from ambient magic; while that would indeed have been useful, better than having to recharge the crystal once a week, it also made the ward much easier to find.

Using the Marauders' Map she reached the third floor corridor without any problems. Filch was sleeping in his quarters, as were Snape and McGonagall while Quirrell, his dot still overlapping with Tom Riddle, was pacing up and down his office.

A muttered "Alohomora!" admitted her through the door into Fluffy's den, musical box already playing. The cerberus was already getting visibly sleepy, all six eyelids drooping and drool freely dripping out of its mouth. She could hardly make herself turn her back on the beast, but she managed for the few seconds she needed to place and activate the small ward crystal. It disillusioned itself and the only people able to find it now would be those who knew where it was, unless someone was either very paranoid or very lucky.

Eager to leave the unappealing sight of Fluffy behind she fastened the rope and threw it down to where she knew the devil's snare was waiting for fertilizer. Cursing all PE teachers she had ever had in her short stint in the non-magical education system she started climbing down the steep walls of the shaft; it was not deep, but given the opportunity she had no interest in repeating the leap of faith the (back then) trio had done the first time around.

As she was just a meter above the dangerous plant she whispered "Flammae frigidae!" and gathered her trademark blue flames in her hand, ready to repel the Devil's Snare without scorching it. She had no intention of leaving too many traces. Past the plant she encountered the flying keys, probably the biggest challenge considering her fear of heights, but not even this one could hold her back, as with a freezing charm even her mediocre at best flying was enough to catch the key without even jostling its wings. The same charm applied to McGonagall's giant chess set ensured her safe passage here as well (by now the fact that these were riddles for first years was painfully obvious).

The troll was no impressive specimen and she avoided him with a very handy odourless charm, just like the potions riddle was quickly left behind; she only took a small sip out of the correct potion she had brought and shortly she was standing before the Mirror of Erised.

At that moment, someone triggered her alarm ward.

OOOOOOOO

Lord Voldemort was in a quandary. He knew the old muggle-loving fool had left the castle behind unprotected, although he had no idea, why. He had not even needed to enact his brilliant plan of using a supporter in the Ministry; there was an almost unlimited reservoir of those available, but holding them back a little never hurt.

However, the fact that he, Lord Voldemort, had not planned Dumbledore's outing was also the problem he was facing, because he had no idea how long the old man would be gone. That meant he would only be able to scout out the defences before returning to his worthless servant's quarters. Still, a lot could be gained by that.

"Go to the third floor," he hissed at the pathetic creature whose body he currently shared. Soon, so soon the Stone would be HIS and Lord Voldemort would be back, stronger and more magnificent than ever before; the whole world would kneel before their Lord and Master.

Possessing a teacher had been a master stroke; they were never disturbed by anyone when out past hours, with probably the only exception being that overgrown bat, Snape. He had contemplated contacting him, but at the moment he just could not trust the man, not enough to warrant the risk of exposure. While he would make for a much better puppet than the st-stuttering imbecile, Snape was a true Slytherin to Lord Voldemort's liking; his sense of self-preservation would never allow him to play host to his Lord, despite his deep loyalty.

When Quirrell stepped through the door of the forbidden room, behind which that oaf Hagrid's dog was waiting, Lord Voldemort received quite the surprise: There was a musical box playing an annoyingly sweet tune, a sleeping cerberus and a rope going down below the trapdoor.

"M-ma-master, p-perhaps we…" his worthless host started to stutter out words of defiance, only to be immediately stopped by his Lord Voldemort.

"Silence. With Dumbledore out of the castle, no one is a match for Lord Voldemort, not even in as pitiful a form as you. Now, climb down. You do not want to anger me!"

OOOOOOOO

With lightning speed Hermione had the Marauders' Map in her hands. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," she whispered the code-phrase and immediately let her gaze wander toward the third floor corridor and for just a few seconds she could see two names; Quirinus Quirrell and Tom Riddle.

"_Shit, that's five minutes at best until they're here," _her mind started planning in overdrive. Now without any time to lose she stepped in front of the Mirror, pulled off the cloak and looked at her reflection.

There she was, looking older, more mature, yet less battle-worn than she was even now; her face was creased not with worry but with laughter lines. Next to her was Harry, but this Harry was different too: he stood proud and tall and his green eyes beamed with pride and happiness while his forehead was completely free of blemishes, not even his famous scar. On each side of the couple were... she had to take a hard gulp at this, her parents, each of them with a child on their lap, smiling happily. On her father's lap there was a small girl with long black hair and deep cinnamon eyes, while her mother had been chosen as the sitting spot for a slightly older boy with middle-long curly hair and Harry's fascinating emerald eyes.

In the background she could now make out more figures, some of which she knew, some she did not. There was Daphne, chatting away with Ironclaw and there were Winky and Dobby playing around with an ecstatically grinning human child next to Susan who was obviously cooing at what could only be a little elven _baby_.

"Yes, good to know. That is my dream, but for that to happen I need to get the Stone to safety NOW!" she snarled at the enchanted piece of furniture. Immediately, the older Hermione in the reflection smiled at her and opened the duplicate of real-Hermione's bookbag she suddenly had slung over her shoulder. Following her example, Hermione opened the bag too, getting out the protective case she and Harry had created. Without both of them approving, nothing short of a nuclear explosion would crack this beauty.

It seemed the mirror knew this too, because mirror-Hermione opened her copy of the box and dropped the Philosopher's Stone inside; at the same time, real-Hermione's box grew considerably heavier.

Knowing time was in short supply, Hermione retreated behind the cloak again before reapplying her silencing and odourless charms, and not a moment too soon. Hearing the troll's grunt of recognition for Quirrell barely gave her enough time to slip out of the way and next to the door so she could make a quick retreat.

As the double-faced teacher rushed past her she did not dare to even breathe, but nothing could help her against the dreadful smell his turban emanated. Not starting to cough, or Merlin forbid barf, took all her considerable willpower, but she managed.

Reversing the process she had taken on the way down, Hermione left the Mirror of Erised behind, hopefully forever. If Riddle only were that easy to get rid of as well.

OOOOOOOO


	16. Chapter 16: Problems Including Fire

**Chapter 16: Problems Including Fire**

The Dark Lord was raging and Quirinus Quirrell had the distinct displeasure of having the only front-row seat for it. Not only had his pathetic servant been unable to get his hands on the stone, but whoever had been down there with him had evaded him. To top that off, they had even taken the damn rope, forcing him, Lord Voldemort, greatest wizard of the world to choose between using a broom and climbing up the shaft inside Quirrell's useless body.

In the end he had settled on climbing because he could not risk the muggle-loving old man noticing his presence in front of the mirror. Climbing had taken almost half an hour and for this, Quirrell was writhing in pain.

And for letting the intruder escape.

And for being unable to get the Stone out.

At least he was sure the Stone was still there, inside the fucking mirror; Quirrell could see him handing it over to his Master (he had been well trained), while Voldemort could see himself holding the Stone, taking his rightful place as ruler over both magicals and the filthy muggle scum tainting the earth.

For Magic was Might, and there was no greater Magic or Might than that of immortality.

OOOOOOOO

Harry was awoken from his dreams, which were still as vivid as they were confusing and fragmented, by a small warm body inside his bed. His first instinct was to grab one of his wands that he had hidden all over the bed, but the second he recognised Hermione's scent and the lovely tickling her bushy hair always elicited that instinct was replaced by something else; this 'something else' was cranked up a few notches when he realised she was crying.

"Hermione, what's going on?" he almost demanded of her. He knew she was probably very disturbed to be acting like this, but his concern would not let him rest until he knew what was going on.

"He… he was there," she whispered with a slightly panicked look over her shoulder.

In an instant, Harry had drawn the wand his fingers had been itching for just seconds earlier; this wand was now pressed against Hermione's carotid. She looked at him, frightened, shocked, betrayed.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but you know our rules for a situation like this: When did we go to Godric's Hollow and what kind of flower did you conjure?" he asked one of the several security questions he had come up with.

With a relieved look on her face, now almost looking proud despite her surely harrowing night Hermione answered, "Christmas 1997, Christmas roses on your parents' graves. Your turn: What runes did I translate incorrectly in my OWL?"

"You confused ehwaz and eihwaz," Harry responded, now finally being able to properly cuddle his distraught girlfriend, which he then did for five minutes; no one was talking except Harry's conscience arguing with his conscious mind.

"_You should not have let her go alone," _came the first barrage from his guilty conscience.

"_Hermione is completely capable to take care of herself; we don't have to let her do anything."_

"_Easy for you to say. Look how she is right now; we should have been there with her!" _On and on it went, like a mental ping-pong match.

"Harry, stop it!" the latest snarky remark from conscience was interrupted by a still quite out-of-sorts Hermione looking at him sternly. "I know you are about to start blaming yourself, so none of that. I am okay, just rather riled up. Neither of us knew he would be there, I even expressly assumed he w_ouldn't _be there; if anyone is to blame, it's me."

Harry took a good long look at her and observed she was already looking better again. "Fine; but next time we do something dangerous, we do it together. Were you at least successful?" he inquired, a little grumpy with the knowledge that fighting together with someone you loved was not always the best idea; it simply got you distracted. Not to forget that one of the next big tasks was going to be the basilisk with which Hermione, lacking parseltongue, would be more of a hindrance than a help.

"I was, thank you for asking," his brainy and bashful girlfriend responded, an all too lovable combination of smugness and the resulting redness on her face. "I think I deserve a reward; as a prize I demand to be left sleeping here in my boyfriend's bed until I have to sneak back to the common room."

It was a prize Harry was very happy to provide.

OOOOOOOO

Hermione was marching out of Tuesday's Defence class with a sense of purpose seldom enjoyed attending one of Quirrell's classes. She had spent the whole lesson, Quirrell was stuttering worse than ever before, working with a wizarding law book she had checked out of the library during lunch hour. Now, the Room of Requirement was calling her away from the side-project she had thought of the same morning when she had awoken in Harry's arms, wishing she could do more than just cuddle and kiss him.

In addition to her class books and the law book, which were quite enough weight on their own without adding the law doorstopper, thank you very much, she also had with her two new spectacle cases filled with new frames for her and Harry. Hers looked just like the one she was wearing now, but Harry had taken the opportunity to re-evaluate his choice of nose-wear; they were still 'Harry' and somewhat similar to his old model, but the new model, besides being completely new and not from a second hand shop, had somewhat broader temples to hold the runes, while the glass itself was without any correcting factor; the runes would see to that.

Harry had convinced her to finish the enchantments on her glasses first because, according to the noble white knight, she was currently the one taking her meals with Weasleys present. Her objections that he was taking in huge amounts of potions still had been summarily dismissed, citing his inability to discern the potions he was actually supposed to take from the more malicious ones.

She had resigned herself to simply finish her own pair as quickly as possible so she could move on to his soon because she knew him well enough to be sure he would not be dissuaded.

After already doing it once, etching the runes into her glasses went much faster. Barely two hours after entering the Room of Requirement had she sized down her pair again and now held an exact copy of the one currently sitting in her face in her hand, extremely pleased with herself. After double- and triple-checking her work she was sure there were now potentially _very _bad typos in the rune sequence, it contained neither 'ehwaz' nor 'eihwaz' ruling out that source of error.

The only thing left now was testing them.

She exchanged the spectacles already on her nose with the enchanted ones, feeling the enchantments latching onto her, yet nothing invading her mind; just as planned, no breach from that source. With a small touch to the temple she activated the enchantments.

Nothing happened.

"_Phew, that's a relief," _she decided. Anything happening at point would mean there was either something wrong with the enchantment or she had been spending an inordinate amount of time with cursed and/or potion-laced items, neither of which she was keen on.

"Now, how should I test you?" she asked her creation. Some might find it weird, but she happened to find it made the creative juices flow. A mere moment later a thought came to her: The Room of Hidden Things.

The excited young witch left the amalgamation of study, library and lounge the Room had provided her with paced thrice in front of the not-so-much dancing trolls thinking of what she needed and re-entered the room. She was greeted by the perpetual chaos that was the secrets of thousands of pupils past. She had two theories to validate: For the first one, any cursed object would do. However, it was the second experiment that required a more exotic experiment; she wanted to know, whether this thing would show her a Horcrux.

With the glasses deactivated for the moment, she cast a strong detection spell for curses she had learnt from a cursebreaker guide book she had 'borrowed' from the Burrow before the Horcrux hunt, lighting up an alarmingly high number of objects around her. The closest one was a rather innocuous looking book, and for this she immediately distrusted that bastard; another thing to blame Riddle for, making her wary of books. After ending the spell she once again activated the glasses, concentrating her intent on finding curses.

As she had hoped, the book lit up again, as did most of the other objects she remembered as cursed from before. After her hitherto disappointing experiences with this spell, she had never known anyone to perform a successful 'specialis revelio', this was a pleasant surprise.

For her second experiment she had to follow Harry's somewhat convoluted description of where to find the wicked diadem. Considering the vagueness of her instructions she was actually rather happy with only getting lost twice between the aisles and aisles of junk, secrets and treasures before she found what she was looking for.

The diadem was sitting where he had described it, looking the picture of innocence; how much she wanted to burn the thing with a healthy dose of Fiendfyre for what Riddle had done to her and Harry. Sadly, she and Harry agreed that destroying a Horcrux with its creator so close by was a bad idea. When had he grown up so much, contemplating things before doing them? Not that she thought letting loose Fiendfyre inside a school was a particularly good idea, nevertheless it was tempting to release some of her pent up frustration punishing the horrible contraption.

Remembering her original purpose in coming to see the piece of evil incarnate she tapped the glasses again and saw… nothing. It was not surprising, considering the charm had not reacted to Tom Riddle's diary either; still she found herself strangely disappointed.

An overall quite satisfied girl left the Room of Requirement behind to head for dinner (was it that late already?) where she sat down next to Susan at the Hufflepuff table. She filled her plate with a healthy amount of food, and her goblet with some pumpkin juice before concentrating her intent on finding potions.

"Hermione, are you okay?" asked Susan with a concerned frown on her face. "You gasped a little and went completely white…"

"Yes, I'm fine," she answered absentmindedly, her attention still on the veritable mop of information the glasses showed her. Every single goblet contained something. Granted, it was the same ingredients everywhere and she even recognised them as a mild health improvement potion, but still considered being administered what amounted to medicine without her knowledge or consent somewhat fishy.

"_Probably another one of these stupid magical contracts things. We attend, sent here by our guardians; therefore we must be in agreement with this," _she speculated with a large amount of annoyance for the wizarding world at another instance where muggle parents were, probably deliberately, in a disadvantage. _"I wonder if we can use Harry's nobility to beat the purebloods with their own little laws…"_

"Oh Daphne," she turned to the blonde Slytherin who had just joined the group sitting at the table. "Would you happen to be free for a little planning soon? You are versed in all that pureblood politic stuff, right"

OOOOOOOO

Harry never thought returning to classes would be such a relief to him. Having been laid up around a month, although to be fair he spent a lot of that time unconscious, had changed that outlook. He was now eager to do about _anything _else than the catching up he had been able to do while holed up in the hospital wing.

Just as he had predicted, he was released a week after his imprisonment in Poppy Pomphrey's wing of the damned and could finally attend classes again that Monday. His Professors were so delighted about him already being 'mostly' caught up that it practically rained house points. It came as a little surprise though that actually hardly anybody, except Malfoy and his two half-apes of course, begrudged him those points.

They were just being released from Herbology, when it happened: Harry yawned.

Immediately, Hermione started fussing over him. "Harry, are you sure you are okay? Madam Pomphrey said you could go, you were healthy right?" she demanded in a serious voice. Harry levelled a calm gaze at her before answering.

"It's fine, Hermione. You would be rather quick to tire out after weeks of just lying around. I'm just not that used to so much oxygen anymore," he soothed. Suddenly, he had a great he idea had to immediately share; obviously Hermione saw it too, because she started eyeing him suspiciously. "Considering my state of tiredness, does Dr. Granger think cuddling in the Room of Requirement would make for good remedy?" he asked cheekily after looking around to ascertain they could not be overheard.

Hermione took on a decidedly reddish tint, smiled at him shyly and nodded enthusiastically. "Dr. Granger holds this to be a great idea," she responded in as haughty a voice as she could. "She wanted to talk to you about something anyway, and it was definitely going to be a Room-level conversation."

And so they made for the seventh floor, first with a friendly distance and as the hallways got progressively more empty they grew closer and closer. By the time they entered the Room, this time with a small table, a roaring fireplace and a comfortable sofa, Hermione had hear head lying on Harry's shoulder. They both knew they desperately needed this contact after Harry's coma-scare.

Harry, intrigued by the secret she wanted to talk with him about sat down on the sofa. However, when he noticed her placing herself on one of the chairs, he followed her example. This promised to be interesting.

"We need to talk." The moment she said it, her face took on a shocked expression, almost as shocked as Harry felt.

"_She wouldn't… would she?" _was the only thing his stunned brain was capable of before the rapid-fire word machine that was a riled up Hermione Granger started shooting.

"It's not what it sounded like, absolutely not, I am very happy with you and have absolutely no desire to do anything like that, please you have to believe me…" she paused to take in some oxygen and blushed a little. "I was starting to ramble again, wasn't I?" Harry nodded, feeling just a tiny bit dumbfounded by the intensity of her denial; it felt good, somehow. "How come I am so smart but when I have to talk about my own feelings and stuff I fail miserably?" Hermione asked dejectedly.

"I would tentatively push the blame in your parents' direction," Harry answered his girlfriend, whom he knew to know this as well; still, knowing and wanting to know were two completely different pairs of shoes. "What did you want to talk to me about, anyway?"

"Uh, yeah, actually…" Harry had never seen Hermione blush like this, it was almost Weasley-esque in its intensity. She was visibly gathering her resolve before she continued in a steady, if somewhat cautious voice, "Actually I wanted to talk about sex."

That had Harry completely floored. Being completely honest with himself this was going to be a sore subject whenever she brought it up, due to what had happened with Ginny. It seemed Hermione who for all her lacking in dealing with her own emotions was extremely well-equipped to gauge other people's emotions was picking up on this, too.

"I know, this is not an easy subject for you and Merlin knows that is quite understandable but sooner or later we will have to talk about this," his girlfriend whispered consolingly, yet with a hint of steel in her voice. "I've read up on it and at the moment you don't exhibit anything one would expect from someone deeply traumatised." Harry was just about to object when Hermione raised her hand to bid him to let her finish. "I know what Healer Young said, and I agree. When we can find someone suitable, we definitely should talk to a mental health professional; after what we've seen, I am sure we will need it but until then I think, moving on with our lives sounds like a good thing to me. I'm not saying we should do anything more _physical _right now, because I really think these bodies are too young for that, but we should talk about the possibility."

Harry pondered what she had said; in essence he agreed with her, although the thought of sex still filled him not with dread but with an uncomfortable feeling ofbeing _powerless_. That was not something he wanted to associate with an act of love. However, talking about it could not hurt, which he signalised with a curt nod.

"I've looked everything up in the law books: age of consent in Wizarding Britain is 12, same as it was in early- to mid-19th Century mundane Britain, by the way. On the other hand…" here Harry could Hermione grow even redder than before, although he really was not sure how she had achieved the feat, "anal sex is outlawed as 'buggery' and carries a penalty of forced servitude, so relying on that stuff might not be the best idea. When did you start thinking like… you know… that?"

Harry thought back, trying to remember exactly when this kind of thoughts had first come to him. He had found Cho pretty in third year already, but that feeling had not been overly sexual. Sure, he had wanted to do _something _with her, just not to the extent Hermione was talking about. Fourth year he had…

That's when it hit him: The first person he had wanted to really do _more _with, beyond innocent fantasies like every teenage boy had them, was the one who had asked him about this in the first place.

"Fourth year, Yule Ball. There was this incredibly pretty witch, whom I happened to know very well. She was wearing this incredible blue dress. I felt so guilty, thinking of her like that," he chuckled. As he looked at his girlfriend the last of his chuckles hang back inside his throat; she was giving him such a look of wonder and happiness he was feeling elated.

"Back then? Me?" she asked, as if she could not believe it. With a barely discernible 'Oh Harry' she had her arms around him and was administering a kiss that left him a blithering idiot.

When he was halfway lucid again, he turned the question around on her, eliciting the third blush of the evening and the only reason he was not teasing her at least a little was the fact that he knew his face would be quite useful for frying an egg.

"Well, Harry you have to remember, I'm almost a year older than you and girls mature a little earlier, just remember I will never push you into anything," Hermione rambled on, obviously stalling.

"Yes, I know all that. You didn't answer my question, though," he pointed out, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Oh fine, since you told me too. It was the end of second year, alright. When I was healed from petrification," she admitted, not daring to look him into the eye. "And yes, I was thinking about you, too. I mean, you were my hero, defeating the marauding snake that had attacked this damsel in distress."

The young wizard, her hero, smiled at his witch lovingly. "Hermione, if there's anything you're definitely not, it is a damsel in distress."

OOOOOOOO

In a wooden hut along the border of the Forbidden Forest an overly large egg was lying in the flames of a fire, when it suddenly started to rock. The giant, for want of a better word, mommy of said egg jumped up from their seat and rushed over.

Rubeus Hagrid had always wanted a dragon, therefore it had been an immense stroke of luck to meet that mysterious stranger in the pub; that he then was really very bad at cards was another sign telling him fortune was favouring him. He did not want to think about what would have happened, had Dumbledore, great man that he was, not given him a free evening that day.

OOOOOOOO

On Friday morning, a few days earlier Harry's new glasses had finally been ready and he could actually see better than before, he was looking forward to potions class.

The idea was as shocking to him as it was to Hermione, but they were both looking forward to trying out their 'Scanner Glasses' as they had taken to calling them on actual potions. Especially the unfinished potions would be interesting, because they really wanted to know how the ingredients in those would be shown.

Following Snape's usual "Instructions are on the board" the two of them started happily brewing away, while keeping a steady eye on the other pupils' cauldrons. From time to time one of them would let their gaze wonder over the cupboards and the ingredients within; valerian root, spores of a toadstool, essence of elder flower, acromantula venom.

Acromantulas… Hagrid… Forbidden Forest

"_Shit Norberta," _Harry remembered heatedly._ "Oh, damn, by now she must have hatched and we don't have Ron to contact Charlie in the dragon reserve."_

He wrote 'What about Norberta?' on a piece of used parchment and handed it to his girlfriend, best friend in the world etc. pp., Hermione. From the whiteness of her face upon reading the note he knew he was not the only one who had forgotten about the dragon hatchling.

"We'll talk later," she whispered, visibly angry with both of them for forgetting. "RoR after class."

With that bit of business being unsuitable for discussion with eager listeners all around, he resumed his perusing of the shelves.

Mandrake extract, bark of a yew tree, unicorn blood.

"_How did Snape come by unicorn blood? That stuff is definitely illegal," _he deliberated. Unfortunately, that train of thoughts was destined to end abruptly as he heard Hermione scream next to him.

"EVERYONE OUT! GOYLE JUST THREW AN ERUMPENT HORN SLIVER INTO HIS POTION!"

The hasty evacuation of the potions classroom was not a moment early; just a few seconds after the last student was outside they could hear a loud explosion and smell smoke from inside.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Okay, this is going to be a long one.

Retraction/Correction: If you remember, at the end of chapter 5 I mentioned a few statistics pertaining rape and sexual abuse in general. I have led myself by misled by faulty statistics here, as I've recently been made aware of. The survey I was quoting from had a sever amount of methodological flaws, which is the reason I would like you to disregard any of the numbers I mentioned. This goes to show that succinctly checking every form of statistic and survey you are subjected to with extreme caution. In Germany, we have an idiom for that: Do not trust a statistic you did not forge yourself. Still, you have my apologies for misinforming you.

Now for better researched data: According to the _Polizeiliche Kriminalstatistik _(police criminal statistic) for Germany (around 82mn inhabitants in 2018), in the year 2018 which lists all alleged crimes brought to the attention of the police, there have been around 63k complaints lodged due to cases of !_any_! kind of violation of sexual self-determination; this goes from 'simple' sexual harassment, over child pornography and molestation up to and including rape inducing bodily harm with fatal consequences. Around 8000 of those are cases are rape, in which 50% of the victims indeed develop a PTSD as diagnosed by the criteria of the WHO's ICD10. This information is according to the 2012 S3 medical guideline published by the AWMF (umbrella organisation for medical scientific organisations in Germany).

Wow, that was dry, but also necessary. As the reader who pointed out my error rightly said, faulty statistics can have a highly detrimental effect on societies. Don't believe me? Google the words 'vaccination' and 'autism' and you will find a prime example of what a crooked study can do, even years after it has been discredited.

Enjoy your day,

alexandertheII

she


	17. Chapter 17: Witnesses of the Prosecution

**Chapter 17: Witnesses of the Prosecution**

"Granger, detention with me for disturbing the lesson. Probably thought you could discredit Goyle by throwing something in his cauldron," Snape sneered at Hermione, against the backdrop of a surprisingly silent class; not even the Slytherins were snickering. "If I can prove you threw something into that potion I will have you evicted."

The viciousness and hatred currently portrayed by Snape were usually reserved for Harry, so he had no idea where the sudden aggressiveness was coming from. However, Harry knew damn well at whom it was directed, and it did not please him.

"I did not throw anything into Goyle's cauldron, Professor," Hermione complained, while Harry wondered how she could remain so calm in all of this. "If you insist on this detention, I will have to take this up with Professor McGonagall."

The smile on Snape's face was most disconcerting; it was clear he did not believe that to make any difference.

OOOOOOOO

It was already close to lunch when Snape, in his usual brand of bullying, released them. Although his classroom was unusable for the foreseeable future, he had kept the students back until the last moment, only to then give them an extremely long essay about a potion they would not even brew before third year.

"Unbelievable," Hermione ranted, all the while pacing up and down in front of the couch in the Room of Requirement. "I can't believe they would leave parts of an erumpent horn where students could reach them. And all those other stuff; acromantula venom, unicorn blood. That stuff should not even exist inside a school, even less inside a cupboard in the potions classroom."

She knew she was loud, she knew she was ranting and that Harry was not to blame for it: she could not help it though, she was furious. Considering at the moment she could not scream at those responsible for endangering the students, she just had to scream somewhere else.

"I know, Hermione and you're right of course. Especially the unicorn blood gives me the creeps," she could see Harry shudder visibly as he said this. "Nevertheless, we have a bigger or maybe at least more flammable problem. What do we do about Norberta?"

Harry was right, of course; child endangerment was nothing new for the Hogwarts they knew, quite the chronic problem actually. Norberta, on the other hand, was an acute and very dangerous one. Neither of them wanted Hagrid in Azkaban, something that could very reasonably happen if one of the bigots in the Ministry found out and neither of them wanted his _wooden _hut to burn down because he thought a fire-breathing dragon was a severely misunderstood creature.

"I don't want to be too involved in cleaning up Hagrid's mess, to be honest," she said dejectedly. "Of course I want to help him, but just remember what it got us the last time. I think we should just make sure Dumbledore knows about this then he will take care of the rest."

If Albus Dumbledore was good at one thing, it was covering for criminal action, one just had to look at the fact Lord Voldemort was teaching Defence, while a murderous miserable Death Eater was teaching potions. Also, Mundungus Fletcher came to mind.

OOOOOOOO

That the potion master's allures amounted to 'the usual' was indeed a very grave mark for the educational standards of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And that was what Harry and Hermione, along with all the other Gryffindor first years, Daphne and Tracey were about to emphasise in their discussion with the Deputy Headmistress.

"Professor, could we come in?" Hermione asked after the door to the deputy's office had been opened from the inside.

"What is this about, Ms. Granger?" the Transfiguration Mistress asked succinctly.

"I wish to appeal an unjustified punishment and file a complaint about the conduct and teaching methods of a member of the staff," said Ms. Granger answered very deliberately. Professor McGonagall looked at the group of students and seemed to have an idea what this was about, but when she reached the two Slytherins it seemed to throw her off course.

"And all these people are here for tea?" she questioned, letting her gaze wander over the group again.

"They are witnesses and common complainants. They insisted on coming, too," Hermione responded tartly. Harry could see and hear the beginning annoyance, something McGonagall had never been the subject of before.

"Then I will listen to you in the Transfiguration classroom. Follow me," McGonagall ordered in her best no-nonsense voice and they all followed.

Now seated in the same room they had their lessons in, Harry could see the other students were feeling a bit cowed and could not help but wonder if this had not been an intended manipulation on McGonagall's part. This mistrusting everyone could get one quite paranoid over time.

"I assume this is about Professor Snape?" she asked with a surprisingly big sigh.

Hermione nodded the question visible in her face.

"You want to know how I could have guessed? Well, I get this visit every year; your year was actually due some time ago. Although it is the first time in many years I had Slytherins here to complain about my _colleague_. Let me hear what it is this year."

The group launched into a narrative of all the things Snape had done that year, from his small discrepancies in awarding and taking house points, to his continued bullying of Neville, Harry and most of Gryffindor house up to this day's events.

"Hermione saved the whole class." Daphne was up in arms on behalf of her friend. "What does she get for it? Detention and Snape…"

"Professor Snape," she was interrupted by McGonagall.

"No, this… this… arrgh, that thing does not deserve that title. Hermione saves all our asses and he blames her for _causing _the explosion he probably caused with his deplorable teaching methods. Then he's threatening to have her expelled. I can't believe you're defending him while he is deliberately aiming at students you are supposed to protect," Daphne finished her verbal onslaught with a bright red face and almost looking sheepish; still, she was staring at the Professor defiantly.

"That is enough, Ms. Greengrass; you just earned yourself a detention, Saturday evening. Now you better hold your tongue," McGonagall bit out icily.

"So be it, but I was just telling the truth. I will have my family hear about the treatment students are receiving here. Considering my family owns several businesses dealing in potions they will be _very _interested," Daphne answered just as icily. Yet Harry could see she was able and used to playing skipping rope with the line between 'still acceptable' and outright disrespect.

"As for you, Ms. Granger, it is outside my competence as Head of House to decide this. Using my post as Deputy here would undermine the position, therefore if you wish to carry through with your complaint, we will have to include the headmaster," the professor continued, now somewhat more warmth in her voice again, although she was still visibly miffed.

"Please make an appointment. I would like you to be there as well, in your function as Head of House, not as deputy," Hermione requested without animosity, but the adoration she usually had for the transfiguration professor was audibly gone.

OOOOOOOO

That evening Hermione, Professor McGonagall as well as Harry and Tracey (Daphne was burned as a witness) were sitting in Dumbledore's office, together with the owner of that particular office waiting for definitely-not-Professor Snape.

That his host was obviously still under the weather, what with all the pale skin, eye rings and tremor, was almost soothing to Harry's still very agitated feelings. That was something Dumbledore had done to himself by illegally attacking someone's mind.

"Ah, Severus, please join us." The old man's pretend joviality was grating on Harry's nerves, a sentiment Snape seemed to share considering the intensified scowl on his face at the greeting.

"Headmaster, what is this about?" the glum as usual Potions Master asked sullenly.

"Ah, just a little misunderstanding with this morning's potions lesson I believe, should be cleared up in a jiffy," the geriatric fool continued in his magnanimous tone, almost as if he was doing the students a service in not doing his job to ensure the standards of education at his school.

"With all due respect, Headmaster…" Hermione started, but was again interrupted by McGonagall clearing her throat. "No, I'm sorry Professor, but this is my complaint, so I _will _speak. Headmaster, this is no small misunderstanding and it won't be over 'in a jiffy'. This is continued unacceptable bias applied in class and subpar teaching. This morning I probably spared all of our class a visit to the hospital wing, maybe even prevented some deaths, but what do I get? Your _Professor _here," the honorific title was said with such disdain it would have been hard to miss, "decided to punish me for 'disrupting class' and then threatens to have me expelled. Never did he say a word to the actual culprit."

"Why, you insolent little mudblood." Snape obviously could not hold onto himself any more, there was probably just too much truth spoken about him in this room before he could twist the facts to his story.

"Severus, please. Not something that _distasteful_," Dumbledore had the gall to actually chuckle lightly. "I am very sorry, Ms. Granger, but there's nothing I can do. No one would believe the word of eleven year-olds over that of a respected member of our community. You will sit your detention on Saturday, but as there's obvious… animosity between you two, you will have it with Professor McGonagall."

"That's it? Your subordinate just threw racial abuse at one of the students and you translate that as 'distasteful animosity'?" Hermione asked, voice brimming with obscured anger.

"_Oh, now he has her mad," _Harry thought with amusement. Playing down inequality would never get you cookie points with her.

"I think you were right, Harry. Hogwarts' glory days are a thing of the past, maybe we should look into Beauxbatons for next year," his girlfriend continued, giving him a look of utter, steely determination. Harry had no problem whatsoever in believing Hermione that this was an honest opinion of hers.

Nowhere was it said however, that Harry should not play on the Headmaster's fears a little. "Don't forget Durmstrang, their program in martial magic is supposed to be unbeatable," he added, enjoying the look of horror crossing the old man's face at the prospect of losing the boy-who-lived to a school of supposedly dark tendencies.

"Well, whatever becomes of this, I will certainly not attend one more lesson with this sorry excuse for a professor," he proclaimed. "Neither will I attend any detention given by him, or to be served under him. I honestly wouldn't feel safe, the way he has been bullying me."

"Neither would I and neither will I," Hermione agreed. "We have an offer from a widely known Potions Mistress to actually teach us. If that is all the same to you, we would like to accept the offer to cut down any more avenues for 'distasteful animosity'."

"You disrespectful little brat, should show your betters…"

"Severus!" Snape's tirade was interrupted by Dumbledore. It had been plain to see for Harry that the moment Harry leaving Hogwarts had come up they would have the old fool's complete and undivided attention. Except the fact that Harry did not have to avoid his eyes anymore, because his gaze was now the one being avoided. "I will of course have to check her credentials, but if everything checks out, you shall be granted your request," he offered as if gifting them not with an opportunity he owed them but with the British crown jewels.

Leaving the office, Harry, Hermione and Tracey left behind a thoughtful transfiguration professor, a worried headmaster and a seething, bitter case of an abusive childhood coupled with bigotry.

When Harry and Hermione were finally alone he threw his girlfriend an ominous look. "I think we're about due for the next potion. Want to bet you will get one too this time?"

OOOOOOOO

The following morning saw Harry and Hermione sharing the Gryffindor table with Neville (no problem), Susan and Hannah (unusual but okay) and Daphne and Tracey (the looks they were getting from two of the four tables were murderous). Harry amused himself by looking at Snape's quite decent Vernon-impression, while Hermione was diligently checking everything in reach for potions and curses. Upon her meaningful looked he engaged his upgrades glasses' enhancements as well and looked over the food on the table; everything was clean, except…

"_The goblets, of course. He could lace some of the silverware and then do a switching spell," _Harry observed, returning Hermione's meaningful look, then looking at all of the rest and nodding. Her expression told him she concurred: His stuff was clean; the potion was only on anything Hermione would use. Not wanting to let the headmaster muck up any of their plans, Harry turned to Susan.

"Hey, Susan is it correct someone in your family works at the Ministry?" he asked the question he already knew the answer to.

"Yes, my aunt is head of law enforcement. Why do you ask?" she responded, looking slightly guarded.

"I'm sorry, you probably hear this a lot but… I recently read about someone called Sirius Black and that he is the reason Voldemort… found my parents," he answered her question, vanishing the wary look on Susan's face immediately. "I just wanted to know whether there are any files about his trial, if he ever said why he did it, you know?"

"I'll ask Aunt Amelia. This stuff should be public record, if I'm not mistaken, so it shouldn't be a problem; she brings stuff home all the time when I visit," the little redhead promised with a smile.

"_This should set her on the trail. Bones won't stand for injustice and I doubt Sirius ever had a trial," _Harry considered, grinning widely inside his head.

OOOOOOOO

Hermione was a witch on a mission.

The talk she had had with Harry about more 'intimate' action than they were currently comfortable with on account of their bodies' age had been interesting, but hey had not really reached any kind of conclusion. Therefore, she was now leading her boyfriend towards the Room of Requirement to finish their discussion. Comfortably seated on a couch, unlike the last time when they had been sitting on opposite sides of a table, Hermione launched into the conversation.

"We never finished our discussion on… you know…" she felt her face flushing again and was annoyed by her own bashfulness. Considering the kind of 'no-emotions-people' her parents were she could forgive herself for being a little uncomfortable with the topic, though. "I know it's not your favourite topic, and neither is it mine. It's just that I know if we still had our old bodies, I would be all over you."

"Thanks for the compliment," her now finally blushing boyfriend responded. "For me as well by the way. What do you say we wait at least until we're, say fourteen; that's when I started thinking like _that_, so this probably means my body was ready by then."

This was a number Hermione could accept. Throw in the compliment she did not really think she deserved and now she was a very happy witch.

However, cuddling and homework had to wait, because there was more on her agenda. "Harry, I'm worried for our friends," she confessed and knew instantly this would always get his attention. "With how openly especially Tracey and Daphne supported us it is only a matter of time before Dumbledore meddles with them too. I… well I kind of think we have to tell them a little story."

OOOOOOOO

"Hey, you five, would you join the two of us for a little information sharing?" Harry invited their four closest friends, namely Susan, Hannah, Daphne, Tracey and Neville with a wave. "We first have to show you something really amazing, and then we have a little story to tell."

Followed by the group of five, Harry and Hermione made their way towards the dungeons where both drew one of their new wands.

"Sorry guys," Hermione apologized, "but we have to check you for any tracking charms. I assume Daphne and Tracey already know how to do that themselves?" Two nodding and smirking young witches were their answer, while Harry was reminded of who exactly Susan's aunt was when she started casting detection charms even he and Hermione did not know, and they had been studying the matter intensively.

After everyone had been checked and then cleared from at least one tracking charm per person Harry led the way through one of the more obscure (meaning probably only he and the Twins knew about it) secret passages toward the Room of Requirement. Along the way they placed the old quills and other items they had transferred the charms to in an unused classroom close to the forbidden corridor, just to throw Dumbledore off a little.

When Harry called a halt in front of an obviously empty piece of wall and started pacing, the others looked at him as if he were completely barmy. These looks turned to awe as the door materialized in the formerly blank stone.

"Please, enter," Harry said cheekily, grinning at them. The room that greeted them looked a little like the comfortable version of an upscale conference room, with leather sofas spaced around a long table.

Hermione took over this part, because they had agreed she just enjoyed imparting knowledge so much more than Harry did. "I can see you bursting with questions, so I will just tell you; this is called the Room of Requirement, it can become whatever you need, within reason. We haven't yet figured out what reason is, though."

"How did you find this place," Hannah asked astonishment clear in her voice as she looked around the room.

"We heard a rumour about this place, so we just asked one of the house elves," Harry declared; technically it was true, they had asked one of the elves. Yesterday. "You just pace in front of the blank wall three times and think of what you need."

"Oh, this is so great, finally a quiet place where I can do my painting…" Susan exclaimed, focussing all eyes on her. "What, I like to paint. Just because my whole family is in law enforcement, I don't have to be; sorry for being so snarky about it yesterday, but every time someone talks about my family they say I will someday make a great auror too," she continued, apologetically looking at Harry.

"Ah, you're already forgiven. If you want to paint here, don't forget to bring all your material. If the Room supplies anything it will vanish the moment you leave," Harry clarified, completely and non-romantically enchanted by Susan's ecstatic smile. "Now, anymore questions or can we do what we came here for?"

Every person got a seat at the table, Harry and Hermione more separate than they would have liked. "We did not want to frighten you with this knowledge quite so soon but we were worried for your safety," Harry opened, immediately gripping everyone's attention. "The first thing you have to know is how my… extended hospital stay came to be; I was cursed and drugged, simple as that. Two different potions that interacted violently, along with the residue of some _very _dark magic in my scar and a curse call _Carnificia Animi_."

The resulting gasp from Tracey told Harry she knew exactly what this curse was. "Someone cursed you with the Soul-Torture?" she demanded. "That's almost as illegal as one of the Unforgivables." Noticing the astonished looks Susan had received earlier now turning to her, she elaborated, "Hey, Susan is not the only one with family that's into law. I'll have you know that the confection market is very cutthroat."

"In essence, with a loyalty and a revulsion potion mixing inside me, the revulsion potion being undirected, I would already be a little frayed. Mix that with the magic in my scar and that damn curse…"

"Language, Harry."

"Sorry Hermione, that despicable curse weakening me, my mind just couldn't take it long. The long coma was my head putting itself back together, so to speak," he finished, leaving behind absolute, stunned silence. "It is plain that we have at least two parties who want me harmed or under their control, because even the two potions should never be given together."

"Do you have any suspects?" Tracey started to interrogate, showing that if the world of confections had not been cutthroat before now, she could definitely make it so.

"Well, we're quite sure about where one of these things came from, may two, with the curse." It was the moment Harry had dreaded; casting aspersions onto Dumbledore would never go down well. "We think it is Dumbledore."

Harry's belief was not completely disappointed as around half of the group immediately started making sure their objections were released into the world. Those who just sat there were Susan, Daphne and Tracey.

"Please, just listen for a moment before you form any opinions, alright?" With tentative agreement from the 'Dumbledore-fraction', Harry proceeded prosecuting his case, "I will start with something we all know: Snape. Why is he still here? Either Dumbledore thinks he will need a Death Eater spy in the future, and a burned one at that after Dumbledore openly vouched for him, or he seriously needs to overthink what kind of requirements he has from his teachers. I tend to think he expects the Death Eaters to make a comeback; that would make it interesting for him to control me."

The silence stretched even longer than last time, before someone, this time it was Hannah, found the courage to speak. "How would the Death Eaters come back when Voldemort is dead?"

Harry had been expecting the question and the answer was ready-made. "How do you know he is dead? All we know is he went to Godric's Hollow, killed my parents and I survived with a lightning bolt scar."

"But…" Hannah started, but stopped mid-speech. It seemed she was starting to use this severely underused organ called a brain.

"Even the thing about the Killing curse is pure conjecture. The only thing we now know is that my scar contained some extremely evil magic," Harry continued hammering on the myth of the boy-who-lived. "The second reason I don't trust Dumbledore is the way I came to live with my _loving_," he spat the word as if it was toxic, leaving no doubt as to whether they were actually good people, "relatives is that I was dropped there by Albus Dumbledore in the middle of the night, on the doormat nonetheless."

This left the attendants of their meeting speechless, but Harry was not done. "After that, he left me with abusive muggles for ten years; I was underfed and beaten, so I do not have the highest opinion of the person who left me there. Either he never checked up on me or he did and knew of and condoned my living conditions. Now maybe it is understandable why I loathe Albus Dumbledore."

Those who had just a few minutes earlier proclaimed the old man's greatness were now looking severely cowed.

"Makes the idea of Dumbledore using a Soul Torture curse much more believable, doesn't it," he asked, now severely frayed around the edges. He might already be eighteen but telling a story like this would always get to a person.

"Well, you won't have any trouble to convince _me_," Susan piped up. "Auntie always says she does not trust him either, and mom and dad say the same. 'Interfering with justice being delivered' they say."

"Thank you, Susan," Hermione answered for him while putting her hand on his shoulder encouragingly.

"Now to more recent things; remember that Dumbledore was out of the school for a week?" Receiving nods from everyone, Harry forged on, "That happened because he tried to invade my mind using Legilimency after I did not want him to know the details of my stay in the hospital. My mind was still… a little frayed and it didn't help his health, obviously."

No one knew anymore what to answer; Daphne, Tracey and Susan were seeing their beliefs validated, while things the other two had held dear all their life were being thrashed.

"As for who the other potion was from, we don't know, though we have a suspicion we won't tell you about just now. If we were wrong it would be very unkind to those we suspect," Harry finished up his report, looking into the other people's faces.

"Wow," said Neville, seemingly summing up everyone's feelings quite well.

"Quite," Hermione commented in a deadbeat voice.

It was now Daphne who seemed to have a need for her questions to be answered. "I appreciate you telling us this, but why? Surely not telling us would be safer if Dumbledore is a Legilimens."

Inwardly chuckling at Daphne's Slytherin survival instinct, Harry chose to wait for Hermione to answer this one. She hated sitting around silently.

"We were mostly concerned for you. Now that you have aligned yourselves with us, Daphne was especially spectacular, you would be viable target for any kind of manipulations as well. Just imagine it was Dumbledore who fed Harry the loyalty potion and it was keyed to Dumbledore, feeding you the same and having you praise him to high heaven would fit the bill. Revulsion potions would work same, just the other way around," Hermione clarified, making shocked expressions appear on everyone's faces.

"After our first potions lesson we were worried about being attacked with potions, rightly so, and decided to take precautions, after Harry was poisoned it became more important and we recently finished with our project," Hermione went on, taking off her glasses and handing them to Daphne.

"Mine and Harry's glasses are enchanted to show potion ingredients and a number of lower curses, you're welcome to try them out, if you want," the excited young witch continued, now in full-blown 'knowledge-sharing' mode.

All around the glasses went, everyone trying them on and marvelling at the functions escribed by Hermione.

"Basically, this is what we want from you," Harry explained. "We will make all of you something like this; not glasses mind you, that would be a little suspicious, but contact lenses. It will take some getting used to, but after that you should be fine. And before you ask, Daphne: Yes these are very handy to have for potions."

OOOOOOOO

Rubeus Hagrid was sitting in his hut, happily gazing at his little dragonling. They really were a misunderstood bunch of creatures, these dragons. Norbert was only a few days old and had already reduced the number of times per day Hagrid had to douse the flames eating away at his home.

Such a clever little guy, even the amount of charred emptiness where his beard had been would not make him think otherwise. A knock on his door revived the giant of a man from his reverie. Looking out of his window Hagrid saw two students, two of his favourite Hogwarts students to be precise, standing outside his door. He had been waiting for this, wanted to show them his little kid.

"Come in, you two. How are ye', Harry?" he greeted them, looking at Harry concernedly. The little one had given him quite the scare with his recent brush with death. Being poisoned from what he had heard, and inside a school. Hagrid could not fathom how Dumbledore, great man that he was, had been unable to do anything.

The twosome he had just admitted however was not answering; instead they were staring at his little Norbert munching away on a gigantic dead rat.

"Isn't he beautiful? His name's Norbert," he gushed, looking at the little dragon lovingly.

"Hagrid, I know you love animals, but you can't keep this," Hermione said to eager nodding from Harry. "You live in a wooden hut and it breathes fire. And don't forget, it will grow incredibly big."

"Nonsense, Norbert is just a little rough around the edges. When he is too large for in here he will already be so nice that having him around students won't be a problem," the gamekeeper gushed on. The two students gave him a sceptic look.

"Sorry Hagrid, but I won't stand here and be grilled," Harry simply stated, giving Hermione a significant look and leaving through the still-open door.

OOOOOOOO

"So much for phase one, on to the second part," Harry commented as the couple entered the castle through the open front gates. "Time to find the delectable Mr. Malfoy."

He already had the Marauder's Map out, searching for the hated bully's name and dot. He was hanging around the hallway next to the Hufflepuff common room, probably terrorising other students, especially those of impure blood, while nobody was stopping him.

When Harry was sure they were in hearing distance of Malfoy, and only Malfoy, he grinned at Hermione, raised an eyebrow and started talking just loud enough to make sure he was overheard. "What do you think? I mean, I know it's pure madness, keeping a dragon in your hut, but do you think we should really go back tonight after curfew? We could get detention; with that beast there, we could be killed, or worse expelled."

Hermione was visibly holding onto her laughter for dear life at the memory boost towards her initial first year. Draco's dot, though, had moved towards the corner of their hallway and his, obviously listening.

"You're right Harry, but we should definitely go anyway. What do you say, at twelve," she answered her boyfriend, almost grimacing from suppressed laughter.

They had done their part; the ball was now in McGonagall's court, or rather her cat animagus' who they knew was the one to patrol the entrance hall tonight.

On the following morning, when they came down to breakfast Slytherin was a good number of house points down, Malfoy had black rings under his eyes and Hagrid was showing clear signs of having cried.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hi all,

With the topic of sex coming up, I am sure some people are asking themselves whether there will be lemons in this one. I have to answer with a definite… maybe.

If they do come up though, they will appear on AO3 as maturity upgrades, to not discourage those from reading that simply don't want to read stuff like that. By the way, for the purpose of this story Hermione and Harry are factually both eighteen (even if they appear as eleven and twelve, respectively) at this moment in time. Otherwise, I would not even consider writing anything sexier than a bit of snogging; there won't be any underage sex described in this story.

Please leave a review,

alexandertheII


	18. Chapter 18: Exciting Things to Do

**Chapter 18: Exciting Things to Do**

"Harry, Hermione, I've been tasked to propose a business venture to you from my family," Daphne greeted the couple of Gryffindors as they came down for breakfast on the last day of February. "Hi Neville."

Harry looked at Daphne inquisitively, seeing Hermione was doing the same had him very happy to not have overlooked something his girlfriend had immediately sussed.

"I told my parents about your invention of the Scanner Glasses, don't worry, they don't know whose it is or that there are also contact lenses available, just said I was now wearing glasses, but after what happened to you, she was worried for my safety," she informed them a little timidly, looking as if she was already preparing to be chucked out of their group of friends. When that didn't happen, she continued more self-assuredly, "My parents want to acquire permission to produce and market these glasses from whoever invented them. Say, do you have a lawyer lined up for a patent?"

Harry was floored and Hermione seemed to be as well, though she regained her wits faster than he did. "No, that would make it public record and tip off anyone that we're even less ordinary students than we appear to be at the moment," she narrated their decision. It was unfortunate, really; sadly, it was also necessary to keep their enemies guessing.

"You could always draw up a magically binding contract between yourselves and Greengrass Elixirs," Tracey supplied, and Hermione went with the idea immediately.

"They could file for the patent, barring anyone from stealing the idea, and before that we could be assured any profits stemming from this… This might just work," she thought out loud; Harry agreed very much. This would also give them enough capital to do a bit more before having to wait for an as of yet unknown amount of gold from the Potter inheritance.

"Actually this is brilliant; although, next time, use that Slytherin sense of yours and erect privacy charms so that I don't have to, Daphne," Harry commented with a grin, to which Daphne blushed alarmingly.

"Father would strangle me if he ever heard I forgot something like that," she said, sounding horrified, though not in the way that would suggest she had any threat except a harsh reprimand to fear.

"_Well, maybe a very harsh one," _Harry mused, as Daphne looked ever more embarrassed and blanched. A nod of the head informed him he and Hermione were thinking along the same lines here, so he answered Daphne's unasked question, "Yes, we will agree upon a deal like, with a few prerequisites: Firstly, this is only for the glasses, any technology derived from this still belongs to us. Secondly, there will be a clause stipulating that whenever we deem it necessary, the truth about who exactly developed these glasses will be told. Thirdly, we will ask a goblin I trust for advice on an appropriate percentage with which profits should be divided, there will be no negotiating these conditions and sign everything during Easter. Did you get this all?" he asked the young witch already scrabbling away on what must have been a letter home.

"Yes," came the excited reply and before anyone knew, Daphne was dashing off, breakfast forgotten, probably on her way to the post owls.

OOOOOOOO

Time was running along quickly inside Hogwarts Castle and before anyone knew, it was the middle of March. Every morning had by now held the 'interesting' complication of someone's food or silverware being spiked with potion. If that was the case, they had simply used, eaten or drank something else; still it was becoming exhausting. What did they think would happen, they'd suddenly stop being cautious? Even with all that, any further attempts on Harry had indeed not happened, something both he and Hermione found to be hilarious. They were guessing Dumbledore was still trying to figure out what had happened the last time around.

On the 'mind front' as they called it, Harry and Hermione were growing more accomplished as Occlumentes every day and had by now taken their own pupils. And while all this happened both time-travellers were still bored out of their mind; it was getting so bad that even Hermione had started being otherwise engaged in History lessons, and not even Transfiguration held the same appeal as before. They would just 'struggle' for a few tries, then get done whatever was the day's task quickly, including the theory work and then spend their time with more fruitful endeavours.

For Hermione, this often entailed reading a book charmed to look like the respective course-book, while Harry was continuing his study of Ancient Runes and coming up with cool ideas for more stuff to invent. Sometimes they also practiced their Occlumency, although that was only possible in History, where the teacher did not much care when two students completely zoned out; they all did.

The alarm ward on Fluffy's corridor had acted up a few times, always prompting whoever happened to be 'on duty' to quickly check the Marauder's map, but usually it was just Dumbledore to check if the Stone was still where it should be. It was not, of course, but the Mirror had its own way of telling the truth: If Dumbledore, more than anything, wanted that Stone there as bait for both Voldemort and Harry then the Mirror would show him this exactly; if not, then he would just see something different

They had not dared writing a letter to Gringotts for fear of it being intercepted and tipping their hand. Instead, they would meet with the Goblins on the first day of the break to hopefully give them enough time to finish the paperwork before it was time to return to school, making it possible for the first Galleons to roll in (hopefully) before summer break.

But now, by mid-March something at least a little more interesting was happening; it was Harry's shift with the map and the alarm ward, when someone stepped into the banned corridor. Harry had just awoken from a little snooze, to continue working on an essay in potions for the tutor Daphne had indeed gotten for their little group of friends, immediately whipped out the old piece of parchment and looked at the third floor, already expecting to see either Quirrell or Dumbledore. However, this time the intruder's name actually surprised him; it was Ronald Weasley.

"Hermione, look," he pecked at his girlfriend's side to wake her from her determined learning-trance. "Weasley is following Dumbledore's bait."

"Oh, interesting," Hermione commented, still not fully there. "Which one?"

"The one desperate to prove himself and his courage, of course," Harry responded a little exasperatedly. He loved Hermione, but she could sometimes be infuriating, though always in an all the more endearing way.

"I've decided I should get together with Ginny," he started to tease her, trying out what would wake her up.

"Aha, very good," Hermione answered, still mentally absent.

"I was thinking: Why did Dumbledore always defend Snape? Maybe it was the same as with Grindelwald? Just picture it, Snape and Dumbledore as lovers," he continued; this was starting to amuse him.

"Great, very well matched," she answered in her absent-sounding voice.

It was time for the big one; he had been building his courage for this for weeks now. Maybe her being just a little absent for this was just what he needed.

"Hermione, I love you," he said tenderly, evoking the first real reaction during this conversation. She raised her head, looking at him with the sort of wide open eyes normally only seen in Luna Lovegood and her mouth fell open a little. "Could you maybe… say something?"

"And I you," she whispered, looking at him strangely. "I would cuddle you, but I don't want to make Madam Pince angry and lose my library privileges, so I will have to contend with saying it again; I love you too."

OOOOOOOO

Draco Malfoy's time at Hogwarts was not what he had envisioned it to be; instead of making an ally of Potter, as instructed by his father, he had spent the whole year having to deal with the stupid Weasel's idiocy; his father had been less than pleased in his latest letter. However, he had the perfect plan to immediately skyrocket towards the respect he was owed anyway; he just had to get past that stupid dog.

For that particular project, his father had advised him on how to deal with a cerberus, and it was so incredibly simple.

"_Just playing some stupid music," _he continued to grumble as he made his way towards the third floor corridor. _"I could have thought of that myself."_

His father had been at least tentatively supportive of his idea to find out what that cerberus was guarding, because something that big and dangerous had to be guarding something valuable, something that might just be useful for getting the old muggle friend out of the castle.

After his last experience of being outside the dorms after curfew Draco was being especially cautious today, complete with black clothes, a silencing charm and a humongous amount of catnip to distract Mrs. Norris he had taken under orders from his father.

Now he just had to place that enchanted harp and get his rope down that trap door and the honour and glory he so rightly deserved as a noble pureblood would be his.

OOOOOOOO

Ronald Weasley was currently engaged in something that could only be described as running for his life. That bloody beast behind the door was not to be trifled with. Still, if there was something this big guarding it, whatever was at the end of that trial had to be worth it; he decided he would return later and do a bit more exploring, he just wouldn't barge in there unprepared like he had done just now. He had not learned that stupid unlocking charm for nothing, after all. He wanted to find the treasure and prove himself worthy of Gryffindor so McGonagall, who had been picking on him without any reason would have to eat her stupid hat.

Bloody mental, they all were. And Potter was just hanging around with the annoying mudblood and these dirty snakes Daphne and Tracey. That was discounting the idiot boy Longbottom (who brought a toad to Hogwarts?) and those non-entities called Hufflepuffs.

Pathetic, really.

That evening the youngest Weasley male returned to the corridor after curfew; he had just evaded the damn cat of that miserable caretaker Filch and was now standing in front of the door behind which the wretched dog was waiting.

Slowly, he went towards the door and opened it, just a sliver. His ears recognised something earlier than his eyes, and it was music being played by a small enchanted harp next to an open trapdoor opening up into the ground. That could only mean one of two things: Either fate was on his side, and it bloody well was time for that by now, or someone else wanted to take away his chance at proving himself.

_Again_.

"I bet it's that bint Granger," he muttered belligerently. Why his mother had instructed him to befriend her as well as Harry after he had written her a letter about the two of them being close and what an utter bitch she was being, answering all the questions in lessons and all, he had no idea.

So, he quickly took a hold of the rope going down that trap door and climbed down into the musty, and slightly burnt smelling, depths.

OOOOOOOO

"Wait, what did you say before?" Hermione demanded a few minutes later in the haze that was the time around which Harry had first told her he loved her; she had been reading after all, that could make a girl be distracted.

"I said that someone was going down to see Fluffy and that it was Weasley. Why do you ask?" Harry looked at her puzzled. It was a sliver of the 'old' Harry, the one she had started liking the first time around; very lovable, although sometimes a little slow on the uptake, although never on Ron's level. It had always been kind of nice, made her feel needed. He was still very lovable, but the slowness had been significantly reduced after returning and Hermione was now wondering if long-term potion exposure could harm someone's mind beyond what she had seen happen just that year.

"Well, if he decides to go back there, and we both know he will, if not to prove what a great Gryffindor he would be, then because he thinks Fluffy is there to guard some great treasure," she enlightened her Harry, eliciting a worried frown from him.

"That would be completely acceptable, for him to kill himself, although it might interfere with our other plans," Harry analysed, looking a lot less happy than he had before. "The only thing we can do now is damage control: it's not like we can stop him from doing something stupid. We could not even do that when we were all friends."

He was of course right. Hermione was not happy about it, but Harry had summed up their situation rather pointedly.

"So, we sneak in there, whenever we see Weasley go and try to mitigate any damage he does so Dumbledore and Quirrell don't catch wind until we're ready to let the trap snap shut," she deliberated, receiving a worried and annoyed nod from her boyfriend.

"I hate waiting for stuff to happen," was the only commentary he offered before returning to potions.

That evening, their prediction had turned out to be true as she was awoken by the alarm ward going off. Since Harry had the Marauder's Map at the moment she tiredly made her way down toward the Gryffindor common room where he already awaited her with a grave face.

"We have a problem. It's not one but two people down there," Harry informed her, looking mightily put out about something.

"Who?" she asked, yawning widely directly after having done so.

"Well, of course there's Weasley, but you wouldn't believe who else is down there," Harry teased, obviously trying valiantly to lift both his own and her mood about this complication. "It's the blond ferret."

Hermione was flabbergasted, although she was not sure, why. It had to do with breaking rules, it held the promise of glory and honour (at least to an idiot) and it was heavily guarded, at least for first years. That had to have appeal to these two.

"Now that I think about it, they are actually quite alike," Hermione mused, before returning to the matter at hand. "So, damage control; one of us has to go down there and see what the two idiots did and cover our tracks, namely remove that ward-crystal."

"Oh no, that is not going to happen. We are going together, or don't you remember what happened last time?" Harry practically ordered, and it did funny things to Hermione's insides.

"_Not the time, Granger," _she scolded herself, but damn it if that self-confidence wasn't hot.

"Okay, so we will _both _go down there," she acquiesced, making him look decidedly happier. "Then, depending on how much damage those two do we might have to oust Quirrell tomorrow, before Dumbledore has had enough time to realise his security has been compromised."

Harry was giving her a rather sceptic look, the look that was reserved for him doubting something in their plan; she also had an idea what it was. "I know we wanted to get the DMLE to somehow witness this, possibly even Amelia Bones, but better this than Voldemort fading back into obscurity."

Finally in agreement, the couple donned the cloak (these younger bodies were at least good for sharing it) and pushed open the snoring portrait. Close to the forbidden corridor they ran into Mrs. Norris, happily occupied with a humongous amount of catnip and so distracted she did not even notice them sneaking past.

"At last, some luck," Harry muttered as they were nearing the now open door, well out of earshot of Mrs. Norris. And that was exactly where their luck ended.

Fluffy was sleeping peacefully, while a charmed harp was playing a soothing melody in the corner of the room. A rope, not unlike the one Hermione had used on her last trip was dangling down the shaft, bound to a statue's pedestal. The air smelled decidedly burned.

Harry drew lookout duty, so he placed himself next to the trap door looking down while keeping one eye on the Marauder's Map for any sign of the manipulative nutcase approaching; he was also keeping an eye out for Voldemort. Five minutes later, Hermione had finished with her task of first removing the ward crystal and then removing any magical residue she could get, making sure that anything pointing in their direction was properly erased.

She now threw her boyfriend a glance easily picking up on the fact he was as unenthusiastic as she felt about going down there; still, they had to assess the damage. Halfway down the rope it became clear they would have to seriously step up the speed of their plans.

"Oh my," Hermione just managed to say, looking down at the remains of the devil's snare in the cold light of her wand. "They really did not leave that much, did they?"

And right she was; what remained of the devil's snare amounted to just about a few hundred grams of ash and some smouldering residual branches. It was way beyond anything they could have covered up.

"Back to bed?" Harry asked her and she threw him a mischievous glance she was not used to giving out.

"Yes, although I think it should be plural, beds, don't you think? As long as we're in Hogwarts…"

OOOOOOOO

Draco could not believe his luck; the first task had been a simple devil's snare, something the first years had talked about just a few weeks earlier. With one of the spells taught to him by his parents (a common way of 'pre-schooling' your children among purebloods) he had completely obliterated the worthless growth.

The second task was even easier, and Draco began suspecting these tests were actually _designed _to let even idiots through; how much magical talent did catching what basically amounted to a snitch show? Now, however, he was in a quandary. How was he supposed to get past those stone statues looking like chess-people? Playing was completely out of the question, as the figures had not reacted to his vocal commands and probably wanted him to play as one of them; indeed, the only reaction they showed to his presence was that the white ones at the other side of the board assumed a 'ready stance' when he tried to get near them.

Draco had absolutely no illusions about how healthy trying to get past those pieces would be for him. Magic was also out of the question; the giant stone lumps had not reacted to any kind of spell he had thrown at them. Confringo, Reducio and even Bombarda were completely, utterly useless.

"Bloody hell, what are you doing here?" he suddenly heard a very much hated voice from behind his back.

"I could ask you the same, Weasel," he retorted, voice filled with malice and hatred for the stupid peasant refusing to bow before him.

"But I asked first," the idiot piped up, looking decidedly smug.

"And I was _here _first, so piss off!" he ordered the moron, who quickly became as red as his ridiculous hair.

"Yeah? Make me!" The Weasel was looking more smug by the second, enraging Draco only the more.

He was sure it was a bad idea, he knew if anything, the Weasel was a decent chess player, decent enough to sacrifice himself for winning, or at least leaving behind, the chess set; on the other hand, Draco was furious that, in his moment of triumph, the Weasel had to intrude.

"STUPEFY!" the blond boy roared, hitting the redhead square in the sack; he dropped like a wet towel.

The moment he did it he determined it to be a mistake; well, there was no redoing it now and he would just have to make a 'tactical retreat'. Being found here with the Weasel would not do and if the Weasel tried pulling him down with him, he would just cite his long-standing animosity with the boy and his godfather would get him off.

OOOOOOOO

Wednesday 18th of March was to be an important day for the whole Wizarding World, Harry and Hermione had determined; it should see the 're-emergence' of Tom Marvolo Riddle, self-styled Lord Voldemort and currently sniffing bad smells from behind Quirrell's turban. Furthermore, it would see Harry once again elevated to the status of a hero of the people, whether he wanted it or not. He did not. But their steps for the future were very much dependant on him raising his level of popularity to stellar heights, just to be able to push through what they needed to ever be able to stay in Britain. They still might just leave at some point, of course, but that would then be _because _of Harry's fame, not for lack of it and their ability to use that fame.

The young couple was coming down to breakfast and inspected the composition and amount of both teachers and students present; it would definitely do, as all the main players were there, although for some reason Weasley was absent while Malfoy was munching away on breakfast, tired but unharmed; obviously their luck with Mrs. Norris the night before had been a one-time occurrence.

The main target however was where they wanted him to be. Quirrelmort was sitting at the head table 'enjoying' his breakfast and doing what seemed like silent muttering to himself. Sitting down next to Fred and George, looking very annoyed at the world, Harry joined the Gryffindor table.

"I hate that idiot Quirrell," he complained, looking mightily miffed. "His lessons are utter rubbish, yet he expects _us _to be concise and informed when writing our essays. I always am, but never get more than barely passing grades."

From across the table where she had just sat down, Hermione nodded in the affirmative.

Suddenly, looking at the twins, Harry let a mischievous smile appear on his face. "Hey, Weasley twins, listen up: I dare you, to go over to the idiot and vanish his turban the moment he leaves the head table." Harry smirked at the two pranksters' gleeful smiles; it seemed as if they liked the idea.

Ten tension-filled, at least for Harry and Hermione, and joke-filled, as far as the twins were concerned, minutes later they could indeed see Quirrell rise from the head table and make his way to the entrance of the Great Hall.

"_Well, here goes nothing," _Harry mused. Both he and Hermione were not happy with their plan, but had been unable to do any more planning. Harry would just have to be as close to Quirrell as possible to immediately take him out the moment everyone had been able to spot who exactly it was that was hiding behind that head garment.

"Evanesco," he heard George mutter, always had been more skilled with Transfiguration, that one.

Now there, in the middle of the great hall, facing the exit with his own face, stood Professor Quirinus Quirrell and from the back of his head, eyes evilly glaring at around the two thirds of the student body that was in his field of view was none other than Lord Voldemort.

"Murderer," Harry screamed so all those who had not been looking were now fixated on that face, the red eyes, snake-like pupils and lack of a nose. Thinking he now had enough witnesses on his side, Harry threw himself at the murderer of both him, sort of, and his parents.

Using his bare fists, not wanting to risk letting loose any magic for danger of both hitting innocent bystanders and revealing how much he actually knew, he attacked the wretched thing. He was going for every bit of exposed skin he could get at, hitting the creature at the neck, head and both faces, grabbed Quirrell's hands.

The great hall was reverberating with first his screams of rage, soon followed by screams of immense pain and then despair. Harry also distantly heard his school-mates scream both in fear and surprise, some even in cheer, but they were only a minor nuisance of exposing Voldemort and banishing him.

Soon, it was over; Harry, extremely weak but not unconscious got up, while Quirrell lay still on the ground, faces, hands and head cruelly burnt. Just as Harry was standing on his feet again a dark mist began forming above the former Professor's body and with a last, desperate scream vanished through the doors towards the entrance hall.

That was also the moment his immense energy expenditure caught up with him. As he fell, both literally and figuratively, to the ground and into unconsciousness, he could hear Hermione call loudly, "Someone call the Aurors!" and everything went black.

OOOOOOOO

Hi all,

Many thanks for all your reviews, keep it up good people of the fanfic-world.

alexandertheII


	19. Chapter 19: The Hospital Wing again

**Chapter 19: The Hospital Wing; again…**

„You know, when I agreed to be Harry's guardian I did not expect it to entail so much sitting at his bedside," Remus Lupin mused, quietly watched by Hermione.

"Yeah," was the only comment she gave; there was nothing more to say. She looked at her boyfriend, best friend, lying in that damn bed again.

"You know, this was Dumbledore's doing, right?" she asked the young, prematurely greying man. "He likes to show off how he knows everything going on in Hogwarts, at least everything that is important; so answer me this: Did he either not know, not care or secretly want what was going on with Voldemort and Quirrell and Voldemort?"

With no answer forthcoming, a look at Harry gave Hermione the conviction to surge forward. "It has to be one of those. At best, that makes him a phony and a liar, at worst he was actually knowingly keeping Voldemort in a school full of children."

Remus still kept silent, as Hermione realised she would have to dial down her eloquence somewhat, lest he become suspicious. "He tried Legilimency on Harry, after he already was mentally injured, for Merlin's sake," she snarled at the werewolf, getting more and more irate with the man for his continued following of the old manipulator. "He put Harry with the Dursleys… the _Dursleys!_ Did his mother talk about her sister a lot? Did she ever say 'If I die, please put my son with my magic-hating sister and her walrus of a husband? And what about the testament, the one you were mentioned in, that Dumbledore as the executor and witness to the will never carried out, clearly stating options for Harry's care?"

"Hermione, I understand you're angry… your friend has been hurt again, and you're worried for him. That's understandable, but I really don't think blaming Albus Dumbledore…" Remus started, but was quickly cut off.

"Well, _I _think blaming Albus Dumbledore is exactly the right way to go here. What has the man done for you that has you ignoring all the bad signs?" she demanded, although she already knew.

"He…" the werewolf faltered a little, before he continued. "He allowed me to come to Hogwarts, despite being a… werewolf." The last word was whispered, even though they were alone in the hospital wing.

"Oh," Hermione responded sarcastically, "that's right nice of him. Tell me, how many other werewolves did Hogwarts ever teach? How much legislation has he pushed through making life easier for weres?"

Again, Remus was left without an answer; it did not matter though, as Hermione had one ready-made. "I will tell you: Zero, as far as I know. You were a spy with the European werewolves under Dumbledore's orders, right?"

Obviously completely surprised by the sudden change of direction the conversation had taken Remus just nodded.

"So, you were the only werewolf ever to attend Hogwarts, and Dumbledore needed a werewolf to spy for him. I wonder how that fits together."

"If you're saying he groomed me to spy for him, you are completely mistaken. I volunteered for that!" Remus supplied, almost looking gleeful at finally having an irrefutable claim.

"Of course you did," Hermione retorted, now really getting angry at the man's stubbornness. "What else were you supposed to do, after his 'great gift' to you? He wanted you under his control, just like he wants Harry under his control. The only difference is that you _received_ education for that, while Harry was _denied _information."

Remus Lupin sat still a while under the scathing looks of Hermione Granger, before he came up with what seemed like a last-ditch effort to hold onto his whole belief system. "If Dumbledore wants control of Harry, why didn't he have my guardianship overturned? With me being a werewolf it would be easy."

Hermione just snorted, looking at the man with hate-filled eyes that made him recoil a little at receiving a glare like that from a child. "Because he probably thinks, and I am starting to agree with him, that it won't give him any advantage. Why make people question matters of Harry's guardianship he doesn't want to be looked at too closely, if you will just bow to his every demand?"

Remus just looked at her, pure shock at the malice in her voice; she would tolerate attacks against her, to a degree, but anyone threatening Harry would be in a world of pain. Incidentally, she was sure he thought the same of her.

"I think you should better go," she advised who, to her, was a weak minded sycophant. "When Harry wakes up he will be weak. He won't have the strength to debate Albus Dumbledore with you, but with how you adore the man and how Harry hates him, that would be unavoidable."

Without another word, Remus Lupin left the hospital wing.

OOOOOOOO

Harry was in a familiar place. The darkness was all around him again, but this time it was less comfortable, less velvety and more pressing. A faint shimmer of light, or physical sensation, was tugging at the recesses of his blurry mind, willing him to wake up.

Slowly rising from the deep waters of oblivion he could attribute more things to the real world around him; there was cloth all over and around his body, a cool breeze was caressing his face and the comforting weight on his chest was there again.

Someone groaned, and before too long Harry realised it had been him. Hermione, who was indeed the weight on his chest as it turned out, did not take as long.

"Harry, you're awake," she exclaimed excitedly, enveloping him in a Hermione-hug. When Harry finally managed to convince his eyes to open he was greeted by her greet head of bushy hair and the smile she only ever gave him

"Hi," he croaked, goofily grinning at her. "How are you?"

"I should be asking you, you prat," she mock-scolded him, re-enveloping in the interrupted hug. "Before you ask, you were only out of it for a little more than a day. Remus was just here, but we were having words about what a great man Dumbledore is and I advised him to go; I hope you're not mad."

"Of course not," Harry replied, still week but with a lot of conviction. "If I had the strength, I would probably have strangled him."

This brought a smile to Hermione's face. "Good, because I was close to doing that, anyway," she chuckled.

"What… happened?" Harry wanted to know, levelling an inquisitive glance at his girlfriend. It was important for their long-term plans how this all went, after all.

"Quite well, actually," Hermione relayed, looking relieved. "DMLE showed up shortly after you fainted and interviewed everyone and the _Prophet _ran with the story this morning. The newspapers were delivered with a number of howlers directed at Dumbledore by the way, parents who were not exactly thrilled Voldemort was here." Hermione chuckled before giving a nod to the end of his bed. "And those are the presents that arrived for you since yesterday from the other students or from the parents of students who sent it along _via _their children."

There, on an assortment of tables stood a number of different gifts, some wrapped and some not, some big and some small, but all of them bedecked with letters or cards. Harry already dreaded opening them and answering every single letter.

"They've already been scanned for harmful content," Hermione joked, winking and rubbing her glasses a little. "Nothing came by owl though, so we might have to check if Dumbledore has anything in place preventing people from sending stuff to you."

Harry just sighed in response; there was always more to do. "Did he try to stop news about Quirrell getting out?"

"Oh yes; it was quite interesting to watch," Hermione snickered. It really seemed like Harry had missed quite the show. "First he ordered the staff to secure the hall, then he told the students in no uncertain terms he would be 'very disappointed' by them, should they try to contact anyone. Susan just pulled out some kind of crystal, broke it on the floor and ten minutes later, Dumbledore had half the DMLE knocking on the main gate."

This made Harry actually laugh out loud, as much as his still week state allowed at least.

"Oh yes, it was quite funny. He was like a fish out of water with Madam Bones here and berating him for putting her niece in danger," Hermione continued, a smirk firmly in place on her face. "I do wonder what he would have done to keep this under rags and why he would try to…"

It was an interesting question, as far as Harry was concerned. The things going on at Hogwarts during the original timeline would have warranted at least careful examination more than just once, though somehow this had never occurred. Not even during the heir of Slytherin debacle had the DMLE ever shown up, only the school governors, and those also very late and under the questionable leadership of Lucius Malfoy, who of course already knew of the incidents at Hogwarts.

"Maybe he did something to the wards," Harry thought out loud, receiving a shocked expression from Hermione. "Think about it; it would have to be something encompassing all students, and we already know it's not the food or drink, at least if he started it already. That leaves either the wards or Dumbledore bewitching every single student. Can you see him doing the latter?"

Harry could see thinking-Hermione was very close to making an appearance, something he appreciated very much; it was so comfortable and almost _normal_. "No, he wouldn't. There's always the risk of someone slipping through and that would be _very _hard to explain. A rune-based compulsion charm tied in with the wards sounds sensible; at least in an amoral, manipulative kind of way."

This surprised Harry a little; he would have thought something like obliviation or a less permanent and all-encompassing memory charm would be the 'better' idea, a thought he immediately aired.

"No, again there would be the possibility of something or someone to slip through. Half a memory would be way more suspicious than a full one, even if it is of chaos and danger at Hogwarts," Hermione explained, to which Harry reacted by hitting his hand to his forehead. "It's okay, you're still allowed somewhat wobbly thoughts," she allowed, looking him with a contented smile.

"Generous," Harry commented with a healthy dose of irony. "How are the twins holding up, what with vanishing Voldemort's turban and all?"

This brought an even wider smile to Hermione's face, she was almost smirking now. "Actually, just a few minutes after you were brought to the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let me in, they approached me; accused me of manipulating them, they did," she snickered. "Me! Can you imagine?"

"Sweetie, don't take this the wrong way, but lately: yes," Harry responded, looking at her in a way he hoped would take any bite out of the words. Apparently it worked, because his girlfriend started to grin widely (an expression he was extremely unaccustomed to from Hermione) and laughed lightly.

"What about you, then? Asking Susan for files on Sirius' 'trial' only to butt Madam Bones' nose into the fact there never was one," she accused lightly, her tone of voice telling him it was in jest. He suspected she had been scared nevertheless at his most recent visit to the hospital wing. "By the way I managed to keep the twins off by promising them an answer as soon as you were awake again. I think we should expect to see them here pretty soon; they always seem to know what goes on in the castle."

That was the moment the Weasley twins actually chose to knock on the doors of the hospital wing to be admitted by a severely reprimanding and threatening; Harry was sure he heard the words 'no pranks', 'needs to rest' and 'flushing potion as new standard remedy', the latter with an immensely threatening undertone.

Somewhat terrified, understandably, the terrible duo reached Harry's bedside where they sat down opposite from Hermione, who gave them another glare, adding to the one they had probably been given by the dragon of the hospital wing.

"No twin pong," she threatened. "Harry literally _just _woke up and needs to be fit to study again as soon as possible."

Still shaken from their encounter with the matron, the twins just nodded their assent before one of them, George, turned towards Harry. "Hey, I hope you're feeling better already; crazy thing that was, right?"

"You don't say," Harry mirthlessly chuckled back.

"Hermione promised us answers, and we both think we deserve them," the same twin stated, looking Harry into the eyes as his brother seemed to do the same with Hermione.

With a huge sigh, a glance at a nodding Hermione and a long look at both twins, Harry started to relate their cover story to the brothers. "We… we saw on the Marauder's Map Quirrell was running around with someone on top of his spot all the time. We wanted to know what that was about, and since he has always been weird about his turban we thought it was worth a try to vanish it and look what's behind."

"You could have told us beforehand!" Fred accused, proving once and for all he indeed was the twin with the shorter temper.

Now Hermione butted in from the side-line; she never enjoyed being apart from a conversation. "We really couldn't, but we're also sorry. We had no idea who this Riddle character was and if he should be here; we already know Dumbledore is in the business of reading minds and doesn't have any scruples about meddling," she said apologetically. "Imagine him reading your minds and finding out you were going for one of his employees. We would have done it ourselves, but we don't know the vanishing charm yet."

This seemed to somewhat mollify Fred's temper while George still just looked thoughtful. Obviously reaching a decision, his face resolved itself into one of concern and he asked, "So you were looking at the map the evening two days ago?" Receiving tentative nods from both Harry and Hermione, he continued, "Did you happen to see our brother Ron on it."

It was clear he was misinterpreting their shocked expressions he quickly went to placate them. "I know you don't particularly like him, even I don't at the moment, but he's our brother. He hasn't been seen since curfew the day before yesterday and we're kind of getting worried." The normally upbeat twins looked very down, giving Harry a weird feeling; even after George had lost an ear they had been cracking everyone up with ear-jokes.

Hermione just whipped out the Marauder's Map she had been carrying around while Harry was laid up, quickly spoke the pass-phrase and started searching the map.

"There," she pointed out, her index finger on the Slytherin dorms. "He's in an unused dorm room, unmoving. We did see him on that evening though; he was in the special corridor on third floor."

The resulting blanching of two redheads' faces told Harry everything he needed to know; his assumption that at least the Weasley twins would feel almost obligated to poke 'a most painful death' in the eye was now confirmed.

OOOOOOOO

"Brother of mine, we really vanished You-Know-Who's turban," Fred commended his twin, who just nodded in response, still thinking. George had been doing that since the moment they had left Harry and Hermione in the hospital wing to 'convince' a Slytherin to help them find their little idiot of a brother. He was actually just a little bit proud of the lad for such a marvellous piece of rule-breaking as defying Dumbledore's direct order, but he was worried about the circumstances.

Why was he seemingly alone down there? Why was he now alone in an unused Slytherin dorm? And, most importantly, what had made him miss five meals? It just did not add up; had he been bitten by that monstrosity of a dog he would be in the hospital wing, being screamed at by their mother for breaking the rules. Come to think of it, she would probably switch her anger towards the twins afterwards for 'corrupting ickle-Ronniekins'. Even their toilet seat had gotten them in trouble, although they had just wanted to cheer Ginny up.

With a Slytherin second year now in their sights, they moved out to get to the bottom of this.

OOOOOOOO

"Well, that could have gotten awkward _really _fast," Harry stated in a deadpan tone just after the twins had left through the doors of the hospital wing.

"You're right," the young woman next to him responded. "They're right, you know? We did manipulate them."

"I know. Sometimes I wonder if we're any better than Dumbledore and his machinations; then I realise, none of our plans include endangering students more than necessary, keeping everything to ourselves and make life living hell for a little boy who doesn't even know what's going on," he continued sadly. "I can't even fault Dumbledore for planning for me to die." At Hermione's scandalised look, he clarified, "Of course I'm happy to be alive, but if it truly was the only way to save a whole lot of people, that's what I would choose. What I'm angry about is him being too stuck in his ways he never once considered anything else. He knew by fourth year I had a soul piece inside my head, or at least suspected, and he never told me what was important; he was too taken with his ridiculous notion of being the only one capable of handling this."

He could see his girlfriend thinking about what he had said, until a questioning expression came over her face. "How do you know he knew by fourth year?"

"Oh, did I never tell you?" Receiving a shake of the head, he explained, "When I returned from the graveyard after the third task and told him about the ritual Wormtail used, I could see he was happy for a moment."

Pondering this a moment before she answered, Hermione furrowed her brow in thought. "So he was hoping you would survive? Maybe he's not…"

"Hermione, yes he is a manipulative old fool and you're grasping for straws," Harry cut in. "I know you respected the man very much and so did I. It doesn't change the fact that he has a harmful influence on the war effort, what with his 'stunning only' policy. Not to forget, he placed me with my _caring _relatives, meaning he either thought I would be well-cared for, which would make him clearly delusional as well as highly reckless, leaving me there without ever checking up on me, or he knew how I would be treated and wanted it to happen; either way, he should not be in charge of government affairs, much less children."

He could see Hermione working through this; mistrusting a teacher was not easy for her, considering some of, maybe the only confidantes of her childhood had been teachers who had stood by her throughout the bullying by her classmates and her parents' 'she has to solve that herself' policy.

Trying for a change in topic, he switched targets from Dumbledore to the ministry in general. "Have we heard anything from Madam Bones, yet?" Harry asked, to which Hermione nodded happily.

"Yes, she left you a note when she was here. I dare say she looked rather _incensed _about more than just Dumbledore doing his best to endanger the students," she told him. "I didn't read the note, but I have an idea what it could be about; I have it hear if you want to read it," she offered, handing him a folded piece of parchment, which he immediately opened and read out loud.

_Dear Lord Hereford_

_After receiving your request for documents regarding the trial of one Lord Sirius Orion Black, Earl of Leinster, I investigated the idea of you having access to them. After a careful search of the ministry archives, it became apparent there are neither documents regarding it, nor has there ever been a trial._

_Whether you knew this or not, I do not dare presume; however, it will interest you to know that the trial of Sirius Black will commence shortly. You shall receive further information by owl._

_With regards,_

_Amelia Bones, Director of Magical Law Enforcement_

"What is with all those different names?" Harry asked, completely puzzled.

Hermione gave him an annoyed sigh in return, rolled her eyes a little and enlightened him, "Those must be courtesy titles, meaning the highest of both your fathers' subsidiary ones. Since neither of you is currently head of their family, you can't hold the substantive titles of your family." Rapidly reddening for her surprising over her surprising knowledge of Great Britain's rules of peerage, she stopped talking and just looked at his amused expression. "What, there was this book about the old British nobility and I was bored," she exclaimed.

Harry still chose not to comment; it seemed Augusta had left a few things out of that talk about wizarding rituals and traditions.

OOOOOOOO

Only one day later, Harry was finally allowed to leave the hospital wing and return to the buzz of the school. What irked both him and Hermione very much, was that the scrutiny he had to endure had only gotten worse after his brief 'fight' with Riddle in the great hall. There were still packets received from students with the express instructions of handing them over to Harry personally and even more students asking whether he received what their parents had said they sent him; he hadn't, in most cases.

There was one that did indeed go through, and it was the one he wanted to get the least; Molly Weasley had obviously seen herself to be behoved to send him a number of sweets. As Harry activated the Scanner Glasses, they made the chocolates blink like a Christmas tree with indications for ingredients that, when assembled correctly, would make for a fine revulsion potion.

"I guess we know now who gave me which potion in January," he commented drily before he incinerated the package. "Hermione, I think we need to do something about my mail. Stuff not getting to me is a problem, especially if that stuff is gifts I should be thanking people for."

Hermione took a long look at him, with 'thinking Hermione' at the forefront before her face took on the expression it always took on when she was about to dash off to the library. Without waiting for her to simply vanish, he asked, "Library or Room of Requirement?"

"You know me so well," she commended with mirth in her eyes and voice. "And I think we need the Room; we know Dumbledore is not above taking knowledge he deems harmful from the library."

The information they gathered was put into use the next morning at breakfast. With Harry once again being asked whether he liked something the parent of a student had sent, only to have no possible answer because he had not received any owls from parents beyond Molly Weasley, he rose and made his way for the head table.

"Headmaster," he greeted the jovially talking old man. "I have a question to ask of you. As the person in charge of the wards at Hogwarts, is there the possibility that some of my mail is being intercepted by the castle's defences? A good number of students' parents seem to have sent me little gifts or cards, thanking me for 'defeating Voldemort yet again', though none of them have reached me."

He spoke clearly, concisely and most importantly loud enough for the entire hall that had gone silent upon seeing Harry approach the head table to hear. Dumbledore, sitting in his throne in the middle of the head table, looked rather uncomfortable for a second before schooling his features and putting on his kindly grandfather persona again.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Harry; I shall investigate it," the old man stated in a non-committal voice with his jovial smile back in place.

"Thank you _Headmaster,_" Harry emphasised. "I would like to remind you of our talk about your form of address for me."

Without waiting for an answer and followed to the annoyed huff of Professor McGonagall, Harry made for the Hufflepuff table to sit with Hermione, Susan Hannah and their other friends.

OOOOOOOO

"Did you see his face?" Hermione asked, barely holding back laughter after just having left the great hall for a walk around the Black Lake. "That one second of horror when you mentioned your mail not getting where it should. What do you think he'll do?"

"Whatever he has in place will vanish, he will 'suddenly find' something wrong with the wards either here or at Privet Drive, maybe both, and all the mail will have miraculously landed in an old storeroom or something. He would have me finding out planned as a contingency and not throw it all away," Harry predicted to Hermione's strong approval. "How come, after tearing into Dumbledore when Remus was there and then trying to grasp for straws making his innocence a possibility, the man's misfortune is so amusing to you now?"

This had Hermione pondering her motives and thoughts for a while, as the young couple slowly rounded the lake; now that they were well out of sight, they could finally get as close together as they wanted.

"I think it was a last-ditch effort from my unconscious to hold onto old, authority-trusting Hermione," she verbalised her thinking. "After decrying the old man in front of Remus, the old Hermione pitched one last battle," she continued sadly; she really was not the same anymore.

"Hey, you're still the old Hermione, just with a large pinch of bad memories and just a little mistrust added in," Harry said consolingly, squeezing her shoulder a little. "You've such a great brain; I think using it to scrutinise authority is a great way of using it."

Although his words were great and even helped her a little, she was still somewhat… sad was the wrong word, because she really thought she was better off being a little less trusting, but she was feeling melancholy. Harry was seemingly able to pick up on it.

"The rest of you is still a hundred percent pure Hermione Granger," he chuckled. "You still have your 'off to the library' expression, you still love learning and teaching knowledge to others and now they actually want to listen; you're not a new Hermione, you're simply 'better Hermione'."

Before Hermione had the time to answer she spotted something that made her blood boil; not far away on an old, weathered stone sat a small beetle, which she recognised. Silently and trying not to give away she had seen the little insect, she maneuvered Harry in front of her, blocking Skeeter's line of sight and whispered, "A little bug has decided to pay us a visit."

She saw the comprehension in his eyes as he drew forth a little bottle from the bag he had on his shoulder; it was part of one of his new inventions, but as of now had not been subject of any changes, making it a perfect prison for nosy animagi.

A simple Accio later a water beetle with the markings of glasses around his beetle eyes was sitting inside the bottle; if it was possible for an insect to glare, this was what it was doing.

"Oh Ms. Skeeter whatever should we do with you?" She asked the reporter with an almost evil smile.

OOOOOOOO

Hi all,

In a stroke of imagination I had the unfortunate idea of reading up on British peerage. I was thinking, "It can't be that hard, or that big a mountain of information." Well, I thought wrong, so you can look forward to more scenes mentioning things like courtesy titles, the difference between Earl of something and _the _Earl of something and so on. It won't take up massive amounts of words, but the presence of such a system inside Britain's wizarding world is feasible.

Before anyone starts telling me there's no such things in the wizarding world as peerage, then referring to the scene about the Halfblood Prince, let me remind you: One, this is obviously AU, although I try to stay as close to available canon information and simply interpret it differently. Two, Hermione says there's no such thing as _princes _in the wizarding world, leaving the way open for an oligarchy of lords to rule as they please.

Enjoy and leave a review,

alexandertheII


	20. Chapter 20: The Trial of Sirius Black

**Chapter 20: The Trial of Sirius Orion Black**

"Just go through, she's awaiting you," the secretary of the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement greeted the party and waved them past her desk towards the stately door behind it, through which the group stepped now.

That group included Harry James Potter, who of course had a very well understandable claim of interest about this case, Hermione Granger, moral support and happening to be staying with Harry and Remus at the house in Norfolk during the Easter holidays because her parents were happy with any circumstance that got her of their backs, and Remus John Lupin; he was there more because of his need to learn the truth about his, possibly former, friend than to support Harry, with whom he was still at odds.

They were expected by Amelia Bones in the business-like manner they had been expecting from her in the first place anyway.

"Come in please, Lord Hereford, Mr. Lupin, Ms. Granger," she greeted and, pointing towards a group of chairs, continued, "Please take a seat. Now, we all know why we are here; truth, as much as it is both terrible and beautiful, it is also everyone's right, especially if one's freedom is concerned."

Obviously waiting for a reaction from them, and not receiving any, she went on, "Pleased to meet you."

They all returned the greeting although Harry was still a little confused at the DMLE head's weird way of introduction.

"We are of course all here for the trial of Sirius Orion Black," she said. "Let me tell you, getting this one to happen was not easy."

Both Harry and Hermione had expected this; however, what she said next was of much more interest to them and their future relationship with Remus.

"At first, I only had to deal with the minister; he was not happy about this getting out there, making _his _ministry look bad," she explained in a most analytical voice. "I then informed the man that what had happened did not happen in _his _Ministry, but under the previous minister's. With Lucius Malfoy being 'pro-trial' he was never going to be a problem."

Now this really surprised Harry; Riddle's second-in-command would know whether Sirius was a traitor to the Potters or not. That Lucius wanted Sirius to receive a trial was therefore quite surprising as long as there was no way for him to make sure the trial would end in Sirius being found guilty.

Madam Bones seemed to share this assessment. "Before you ask, I think Malfoy is just worried by the precedent this might set; suspected Death Eaters thrown into Azkaban without trial is not something Lucius Malfoy wants to see as an everyday occurrence, if you know what I mean. At least he won't be able to directly influence the trial with his seat on the Wizengamot, as he does not sit on the Peerage level; as the heir-apparent of a hereditary peerage he has the right to be judged by his peers, not the common folk."

Now this shocked Harry a little, before he remembered something from the old timeline; during his own farce of a trial, Malfoy had been skulking around _outside _the courtroom as well, probably lining very deep pockets with _very _generous amounts of gold.

"My main hindrance was actually our own Chief Warlock, believe it or not," Amelia went on in her story, looking decidedly angry now. "He kept going around, trying to stop this from happening and citing the 'possible damage to Mr. Potter's fragile young mind' as the reason."

The only comment to this that came from both Harry and Hermione was a disgusted snort; Remus Lupin just looked sad and just a bit lost.

"Madam Bones, just two questions if you would allow me to," Harry asked. With her nodding in the affirmative, he questioned, "First, why do you call me Lord Hereford? Second, and I don't want to complain here, why do you tell us all this?"

With a calculating look at him, she proceeded to answer the questions, "You have always been addressed as Lord Hereford; it's your father's second highest title, therefore you are entitled to be known by it until you claim headship of your house. As for the second question, the answer is simple; my motivation is of purely political nature; my department has had to endure cuts beyond reasonable during both this and the former administration; there aren't many Duchies left in the Wizengamot, meaning you will soon have a lot of political influence and might be able to reverse that process."

With many more questions than when he had entered, Harry, followed by Hermione and Remus went after Amelia Bones as she started to get underway to one of the largest courtrooms the ministry had to offer; there would be a lot of media and public at this trial.

OOOOOOOO

Hermione was sitting with baited breath as she watched the dementors guide in the gaunt form of Sirius Black, Harry's godfather. He looked haunted, even more so than when she and Harry had met him during their previous third year; to her that just meant conditions in Azkaban were so bad that even while on the run, Sirius had gotten a better diet.

He was led towards the imposing chair in the middle of the room, complete with manacles and everything, which slung around his emaciated wrists the moment the man sat down, while the pair of dementors retreated behind the line on the ground specifically meant for just that purpose. She cast another glance towards both the members of the Wizengamot, only the peerage today, as everyone was judged by 'his peers and his betters' and the members of the public, silently arrayed in the ranks beyond the august members of the judicial committee.

There were also a fair number of reporters from various media outlets, including an oddly dressed, white-haired fellow with radishes dangling from his ponytail; the acid green style of clothes of a certain beetle was missing, however. The hyenas had accosted Harry the moment they had spotted him, making him uncomfortable, to say the least, and just pushing Hermione to the side; an uppity mudblood daring to befriend a future duke would simply not interest their readership.

This new knowledge of Harry's titles all around the wizarding world had shocked both her as well as her boyfriend, seeing as it had never come up during their first 'go-around'. She now suspected there was something similar, if much stronger and more though-out than the mail-redirection-ward Dumbledore had indeed placed on Harry at work here. Just a few days after Harry enquiring after his mail Dumbledore had indeed 'come up' with the reason for his missing mail, citing the wish to protect Harry from any nefarious letters and cursed objects as the reason for applying such a ward to both the house in Privet Drive and Hogwarts; any letter or packet not on a very short 'Dumbledore-approved' list had been redirected towards Hogwarts; for Harry's safety, of course.

"Honourable Lords of the Wizengamot," the court scribe intoned his litany. "You have before you 'the Magical people of England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland vs. Sirius Orion Black, Earl of Leinster and Heir-Apparent to the Marquess Black, deceased. The charges are: Lord Leinster is accused of, in full knowledge of the consequences, betraying his oath as the secret keeper to Lord James Charlus Potter, the Duke of Potter, the Earl of Hereford, the Viscount Welles, Lady Lily Potter, the Duchess of Potter, the Countess of Hereford, Viscountess Welles, both deceased, and their son Harry Potter. Furthermore, he is accused of the murder of one Peter Pettigrew and a breach to the statute of secrecy. Take note that there is a minor offence tied in with these accusations, which is the killing of 13 muggles. The prosecution is represented by the honourable Amelia Bones, while Mr. Black is appearing _pro se._"

Now, the word fell to the supremely annoyed looking Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot to start proceedings. "Mr. Black, how do you plead?" he asked the still bound man on the chair.

"Not guilty," said man answered, keeping an amount of cool she would never have thought possible, especially from Sirius Black; his anger was somewhat visible nonetheless.

"In that case, Madam Bones, you have the floor," he instructed.

Madam Bones rose from her seat among the members of the judicial gathering and strode towards the middle of the room where Sirius sat bound to his chair; she had told the teens this would happen, that she would have to play the part of the prosecutor, and to Hermione's eyes it seemed like she would deliver.

"Mr. Black, is it correct that on or around November 1st 1981, you were detained after verbally admitting your guilt on the deaths of Lord and Lady Potter?"

"Yes, Madam Bones. I was half crazy from guilt and shame and sadness and grief and I said exactly that while laughing on the pavement of that street," Sirius confirmed, making Hermione more sure than ever that for him to be appearing pro se had been a really bad idea; the man was just reckless.

"So you admitted to your guilt in the murder of the Potters?" Amelia continued her questioning.

"_She's really good," _Hermione mused. _"I would not want to sit on that chair when she actually wants me convicted."_

"No, I admitted to my guilt in their deaths by insisting they chose someone else as secret keeper, someone who turned out to be a traitor," Sirius went on in his story, obviously seeing a number of disbelieving faces, he continued. "I am aware many won't believe conventional evidence completely; therefore, I would like to request trial under Veritaserum."

This obviously turned heads, Hermione could see that; also, Dumbledore was looking even more annoyed than when he had to open the trial. For her, this was a point in Sirius' favour.

"Mr. Black, that is highly uncommon," the old man tried to butt in, but it was clearly visible he would be remiss in any attempt to stifle the usage of the truth serum. With a sigh, he did his duty and followed the protocol, "Who here will speak for their peer, so that we may not ask unreasonable demands of him?"

"I will," she heard Augusta's voice from within the ranks of the gathered councillors.

"The chair recognises Augusta, Viscountess Longbottom, currently in proxy for her son Francis, the Viscount of Longbottom," Dumbledore declared; his mien was getting increasingly like he had again bitten into something very bitter, even though he tried to hide it. "Do you accept Lady Longbottom as the one to speak for you?"

"I do," Sirius replied, looking almost gleeful.

"Aurors; administer the potion," the Chief Warlock ordered, looking almost… sad?

"_Why would he look sad?" _Hermione asked herself while two of the contingent guarding the trial walked towards Sirius who willingly opened his mouth to let four drops be dropped in.

"Madam Bones, you have the floor," Dumbledore announced into the tense silence that had settled over the attendees.

"Thank you, Chief Warlock," she said, looking up at the man, looking everything but thankful; angry and hateful would have fit the mark way better. Switching towards Sirius she asked, "Are you Sirius Orion Black, Earl of Leinster and Heir-Apparent of the Marquess of Black, deceased?"

"Yes," Sirius answered in the tell-tale voice void of emotion so typical for Veritaserum.

She drew her wand and pointed it at the man on the chair, casting what seemed like a _very _strong compulsion charm, while ordering, "You will tell me that two plus two equals five."

Finished with her cast, she went back to the interrogation. "What is two plus two?"

"Four," came the answer from Sirius.

"Court scribe, let the minutes show the Veritaserum is in working order," the Director instructed. "Are you guilty of the deaths of James and Lily Potter?"

"Yes." Sirius' answer prompted a lot of muttering, especially from the public gallery; Hermione however saw what was at play here: Sirius thought of himself as guilty of the Potters' deaths, so the Veritaserum forced him to answer that way.

Madam Bones seemed to think along similar lines. "Lady Longbottom, let me specify before you have to be bothered and step in yourself. Mr. Black, did you _betray _the Potters and kill Peter Pettigrew?"

"No."

"Why, then, do you feel guilt for their deaths?" She inquired further; she really was a sharp one, Hermione decided.

"I do not feel guilt for Pettigrew's death, because he is not dead. I feel guilt for James and Lily's deaths because I made them switch secret keepers from me to Pettigrew."

This caused an outcry amongst the members of the public and the Wizengamot; as per the rules of trial under Veritaserum, Sirius could now no longer be sentenced for two of his major offences: that the 'minor offence' of killing 13 muggles remained seemed to go unnoticed.

"Did you, to your knowledge, break the Statute of Secrecy by firing an explosive curse in the middle of a muggle street?" the questioning continued with what would probably the last question of that trial.

"No, Peter Pettigrew did."

Just like that, all accusations against Sirius Black were null and void.

OOOOOOOO

"Hello Mr. Potter, how are you this fine day?" Harry was greeted by Ironclaw. Almost terrified by the unusual joviality and happiness of the goblin the first thing that came to his mind also came out of his mouth.

"What?"

"Ah, I see me being of a good mood has you on edge; if it would make you feel comfortable, I could always snarl at you a little," he joked, now moving the conversation into truly terrifying territory.

Shaking himself out of his surprise-induced stupor, Harry led with the thing he had actually come to do. "Hello Ironclaw; I have three things I would like to do, maybe four even, if you have the time."

"Certainly, Mr. Potter, do start," he was invited by the old goblin.

"First, I want to do that claiming of the headship of my family, how does that work?" Harry asked politely.

"Ah, yes; I was suspecting I would see you for this," the goblin chief commented. "We will have to go to the Potter vaults and you will simply put on the signet ring. Quite simple, actually."

A little taken aback at the apparent simplicity of the task Harry just had to ask, also on behalf of Hermione who he knew was dying to ask herself, although the goblins would not be able to answer her, "That simple? Nothing like 'a drop of blood' or some oath?"

"No!" The old Goblin exclaimed, sounding almost offended. "Why ever should we do _that_? Why do we get asked for stuff like 'inheritance rituals' and the like, by people trying to find out if they belong to a long extinct house or something? Where would we even get that kind of information?" He asked rhetorically. After giving a great huff he informed Harry of the reality, "No, if you want to know who your ancestors were you will have to do some old-fashioned genealogy and sift through very old parchments; as for your right to bear the Potter ring, it knows the magical signature of the last Lord Potter, making it able to confirm your signature is that of his son; the information is actually in the gemstone."

Pondering a little, the goblin gave an odd face. "By the way, you don't ever want to give your blood away lightly; it can used to cause you great harm as it, too, contains part of your magic. Some magical contracts, those that are not instigated only by actions, are signed with blood quill, thereby binding both parties to the letter of the contract."

This was Harry's launch into his second point. "Actually, that is the second reason I'm here; I would like for you to draw up a contract between both me and Hermione and Greengrass Elixirs for the use of an invention of ours and I was hoping for your input on the details."

Harry explained the general idea of the invention to the fascinated goblin, who also happened to be one of the first future customers; he wanted the curse-breakers to have something like this. Sadly, they would not work on a goblin due to their different brain structures. In the end, he advised Harry on a 70/30 cut, in favour of Greengrass Elixirs.

"Considering the company carries the economic risks and the terms you propose are very limiting, I really don't think you can ask for more," he explained to an unhappy, but understanding Harry.

"Thank you for the advice: Now, as you've wrecked my third point with pointing out how there's no such thing as an inheritance ritual, I will just progress towards the optional point; I would ask for a goblin as a financial adviser."

This left Ironclaw visibly floored, so Harry tried explaining it better, "I have a huge amount of ideas just waiting to be put into action; considering I have no idea whatsoever of economy, having someone on retainer, if you will, can only be beneficial."

Coming out of his short mental absence, Ironclaw nodded. "Oh, don't take my shock as disapproval; it's just that many wizards don't trust us enough for something the likes of this and those that would, don't have enough capital to require a financial adviser. I think my son Sableclaw would jump at the opportunity," Ironclaw offered.

"A generous offer; I assume this involves a fee?" Harry chuckled a little. With the goblins, almost anything involved some sort of fee.

"10% of the net profit," Ironclaw demanded.

"3%," came Harry's counteroffer.

"7%."

"5% and we'll re-evaluate once it becomes more than ten hours of work a week; that is my last offer," Harry set his planned ultimatum.

"Deal."

OOOOOOOO

One harrowing cart ride later, which was the main reason Harry was at Gringotts without Hermione, who had instead opted to accompany Sirius and Remus to St. Mungo's, he and Sableclaw were standing in front of a huge vault door bearing a coat of arms he had never seen before.

This coat of arms he now realised was his own coat of arms; it was rather opulent (with sword, fire and book) on a field of red and gold, and below it was embossed his family's motto: Per virtus et Scientia.

"Wow," he commented, completely dumbfounded.

"Indeed," his goblin companion chuckled. "Shall we open it, then?"

With a nod, Harry gave his assent and was promptly instructed to prick his finger with a small silver knife he was handed; this confused him, especially after his talk with Ironclaw, something he voiced immediately.

"Ah yes, it is true that we cannot use blood to track your lineage; alas, these vaults' wards have embedded into them the magical signatures of former Lord Potters," Sableclaw explained. "Therefore, it requires your blood, just once, to reactivate it after the previous owner's demise. After now, any goblin with the necessary clearance could open it for anyone you see fit."

This made Harry think a little on the machinations of Albus Dumbledore and how he had been able to effectively steal from him, if the vault had indeed been inactive; this was another question he voiced.

Sableclaw, for his part, seemed happy to have a wizard there who was interested in the finer parts of how the wizarding bank worked and did not even demand explanations, but asked politely. "Ah, that is for a completely different type of account, or rather vault. Mr Dumbledore had limited access to the monetary assets of House Potter, access which he abused. Believe me, if he had access to this vault, it would have been _very _bad for the Potter family."

So, with a little prick of his finger and just a little droplet of blood smeared onto the vault door, which he immediately removed with a small napkin he had found in one of his pockets, Harry James Potter opened the Potters' non-monetary vault.

What awaited him was astounding; there were books, so many books, as well as weapons, both decorative and obviously practical and even partly used, and some furniture. The most important thing, as he was informed by Sableclaw, was the inconspicuous looking cupboard directly to the left of the entrance, flush to the wall; this cupboard contained what Harry could only describe as literal _portkeys. _There were indeed several ornate keys, all bearing a small tag with writing visible on it.

"Those are the portkeys to the various Potter properties," Sableclaw informed him. "Bar the one in Godric's Hollow, which the ministry seized; I think it's a heritage site now." Pointing towards a ring box, he continued, "This holds the Potter rings; one for the Lord and one for the Lady. I dare say you will only be needing one of them for the moment. Just go there and put it on, and you will be the Count Potter."

And that was what he then did; he stepped up to the cupboard, took the ring case off the shelf and opened it to take out the elegantly crafted gold ring with the ruby setting, bearing a signet. He slipped the piece of jewellery on the pinkie of his left hand. For just a second he felt his magic react, a little like holding his first wand for the first time, though much less strong, and then it was over.

"That was… anticlimactic," he decided, looking at the ring on his finger.

"Your grace, you know as well as I do that loud bangs, bright lights and puffs of smoke are the sign of ineffectual magic," Sableclaw commented. "Although you are not the first to profess such a sentiment."

Only minutes later, Harry was on board one of Gringotts' carts again, on the way up through the tunnels under wizarding London.

OOOOOOOO

"Hi you," Hermione greeted as Harry entered the hallway in St. Mungo's, "or should I say 'Your Grace'?"

"If you start calling me 'your grace' I will have to start calling you Ms. Granger," Harry threatened. "I could also do a Malfoy and call you something like 'filthy peasant'."

"Oh, your Grace, you make me blush," she joked back at him.

With a chuckle to his voice, Harry asked, "How is he?"

Now that was an interesting and somewhat hard to answer question for Hermione, as she had been unable to actually see Sirius in his hospital bed; one of the healers had banished anyone but immediate family from the room. The only one to currently even remotely have the status of immediate family, was Harry.

"No idea, they won't let me in. Remus went to the cafeteria a while ago; I think he has not really come to grips with how much his changing at the moment," she relayed. She was a little miffed she had not been let in to see Harry's godfather, considering they were rather close the last time, even though this version of Sirius had never met her before. "But I think they would let you in; if you asked, maybe me too."

"I'll try," Harry offered and went through the door into Sirius' private room. Some twenty, obviously very emotional minutes later, he stuck his head out of the door and waved Hermione inside. "He wants to 'meet' you."

Receiving a nod from her, he opened the door a little farther and bade her to get in. On the lone bed lay Sirius Black, Harry's godfather and Hermione's friend from the previous time-line; he was looking horrible. Obviously, when he had confronted Wormtail during their third year he had been running on adrenalin, because this Sirius would not be able to lift a wand, let alone drag Ronald Weasley through a narrow tunnel.

"Hello, Mr. Black," she greeted the emaciated man. "I'm Hermione, I'm Harry's…" she looked at her boyfriend a little and, seeing him nod ever so slightly went on, "best friend and girlfriend."

"Nice to meet you Hermione; you will have to excuse my… subpar appearance, I did not have my beauty-rest last night." Turning to Harry he continued, "Way to go, pup; she seems nice."

They made some light conversation over the next half an hour, but Hermione was able to tell Sirius needed his sleep, badly so; for what it was worth, even Harry could see, although he clearly wanted to stay longer.

After ten more minutes of waiting outside while Remus and Sirius were leading what seemed to be a heavy argument, they were off to Norfolk again.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hellooooo,

Thanks for all the reviews and follows and favourites you leave, that is so motivating. Please, enjoy the next chapter and continue your assiduous reviewing habits.

alexandertheII


	21. Chapter 21: The Elves of Potter Castle

**Chapter 21: Elves of Potter Castle**

"Say Harry, anything interesting you brought back from Gringotts besides that ring?" Hermione finally let loose her bottled up curiosity; she had been waiting to ask this since the moment he had sat foot in that hospital corridor. Now that they were back in the house in Norfolk, she could not hold it in anymore.

"Ah, I was wondering when you would ask," Harry chuckled back, clearly enjoying protracting her suffering just a little bit more. "But, as I can see you really _really _want to know; I brought back a portkey to Potter castle." A wide grin stole itself onto his face.

"You have a castle," she replied surprised.

"I have a castle; we'll go and take a look tomorrow, if I can convince Remus," her boyfriend, who was now also a Lord and a Duke and all those other things replied. It made a strange feeling rise in her she knew all too well; her insecurities were creeping back up.

"_What if he needs a highborn girl?" _she asked herself, although she was doing her best, not to go there. Their day had been riveting enough for all parties involved; there was no need for her to pile it up.

And so, she went to bed after an early dinner, but she could not sleep; there were unpleasant thoughts gnawing at her.

OOOOOOOO

The next morning saw Harry waking up early; _very _early.

He was giddy with anticipation for the visit to Potter castle, into which he had been able to annoy Remus. In fact, he could not remember ever being this giddy about anything before; it was a link to his family's long past. Generations of Potters had lived in that castle, and he would too.

Also, as an eighteen-year-old, the prospect of owning an actual, real castle was just mind-bogglingly awesome. The only tarnish on the whole picture was Sirius' absence, he was being kept in the hospital by his healers, despite his only partly mock protests; a slight inconvenience was there as well and it was Remus' stubbornness; the werewolf was, understandably as it might be, still clinging to the idea that Dumbledore's role in this all had been somehow misunderstood.

That was also the reason why, before Easter was over, Harry would again have a change of guardians; at least it was one of the reasons, with the other one being the ease with which Dumbledore could probably contest Remus' claim of guardianship due to his Lycanthropy, if Remus ever saw the truth about Dumbledore's actions. Sirius was just the safer and more preferable option.

"Good morning, sweetie," he greeted his still sleep-headed girlfriend as she came down the stairs from the bedrooms. He eagerly went for a kiss, but she was less enthusiastic than usual, even though they had to curb their levels of affection in front of Remus until they knew they could trust him.

As he tried to kiss her again but she faced away instead, he knew something was up; normally it would often even _be _Hermione to initiate something like this. "Hey, is something up with you?" He asked compassionately.

Trying to look into her eyes he was unable to achieve his goal as she kept turning away, looking sad and self-conscious; this was starting to get really worrying to Harry. "Hey, did I do something wrong?"

This snapped Hermione out of it immediately; she looked at him, horrified and shook her head energetically. Suddenly, without any kind of forewarning Harry had a shaking witch in his arms. He was rather proud of himself for only stiffening for a second before he enveloped her into a hug and started passing his right hand up and down her back.

"Hey, what is it?" He asked again, knowing it must be bad for Hermione, strong, independent Hermione to act like this. "Shhh, I'm here."

Another minute or two they just stood there like that Harry being squeezed by Hermione like a big fluffy teddy with green eyes, slowly stroking her back. As she started to get herself under control and the shuddering stopped, she released him and instead took his hand, leading him to one of the sofas arrayed around the coffee table, sitting him down before she parked herself on his lap.

"I had a nightmare," she mumbled, barely understandable; seemingly in need of powering through her story, she immediately went on, "After everything yesterday, I was just… I was scare you would somehow need a highborn Lady and wouldn't want me to be your girlfriend anymore."

To say Harry was completely floored was grossly understating the facts; he could not help but feel guilty for obviously not showing her enough how much he loved his girlfriend.

"_Well better late than never," _he mused and, this time without resistance, he kissed his Hermione. "Hermione, that is probably the most stupid thing I've ever heard you say; I am certainly not out to trade you in for some snobby pureblood heiress. Granted, Tracey and Daphne are really okay, but can you imagine me with the likes of, say… Parkinson," he chuckled, forming some approximation of a smile on her face.

"Believe it or not, Parkinson was the one you chose as your Lady in my nightmare," she sniffled, looking at him deeply. "I know it's silly, but I just can't help myself…"

"Hey," she was interrupted by Harry. "You, Hermione Granger, are such a serious person most of the time, you are allowed the occasional bout of silliness; but don't you dare question that I love you; otherwise, I would not have said so."

"Love you too, Your Grace, the Duke of Occasional Silliness in person."

OOOOOOOO

Harry was beyond astonished; in front of him rose the impressive curtain wall of Potter castle. Easily ten meters high and several meters thick, it must once have been an almost impenetrable barrier of light-grey stone.

The group of Harry, Hermione and Remus was standing in front of the outer gate of the castle and dubiously peering down into the castle's water-filled moat; there was not much else to do, because the drawbridge was pulled up.

"Who's be there," they heard the squeaky voice of what could only be a house elf echo over the battlements of the old fortification; not even over the embrasures the little creature was visible.

"Harry, I think it's your part," Hermione whispered next to him, prompting him to return to the here and now.

"Ah… yes," he replied elegantly, before facing towards the top of the ramparts. "The… uh… the Duke of Potter has returned?" he half announced, half asked, knowing full well he did not come off as completely sure of his own claim.

It turned out he needn't have worried, for as soon as he was done talking the elf's voice behind the castle's battlements climbed a few octaves in pitch with excitement. "Lord Potter be back, Lord Potter be back; we must be letting down draw-bridge."

Sooner than he had expected the excited elf's orders were put into reality and the old piece of craftsmanship that was the drawbridge lowered itself to admit the curious group. They were greeted by a surprisingly large contingent of house elves, all of them wearing rather comical representations of medieval clothing.

"Lord Potter really be back?" The one in the front asked, his wide eyes growing even wider as he looked at Harry's signet ring.

"Yes, I'm back," Harry replied, eliciting a happy squeak from many of the little creatures in their welcoming party. "And it's Harry, just Harry. What is your name?"

"Wonderful news, Master Harry; my name be Steward," he answered, pulling a small snicker from both Hermione and Remus; she did not like the forced servitude of the house elves any more than Harry, he knew that, yet she obviously had the capacity laugh about his apparent troubles in getting to be called 'just Harry'.

"Hello Steward, nice to meet you. These are my friend Hermione," he pointed at the bushy-haired beauty he would, as soon as Remus was out of earshot, reintroduce as his girlfriend, "and this is my _temporary _guardian, Remus Lupin."

The elves bowed towards both and Steward greeted, "Missy Her-mini, Mister Remus."

A sort of awkward silence ensued that obviously Hermione decided to break, "Steward, how come there are so many elves here?" She asked the now shameful apparent leader of the house elves; and now that Harry thought about it, she was right. There were more than twenty elves in the group that had greeted them.

"They… they be needing place to stay," Steward admitted, frantically looking about.

Harry, recognising the signs of what was about to happen from his encounters with both Dobby and Kreacher, quickly ordered, "Steward, you will _not _punish yourself!" This earned him an appreciative smile from his girlfriend. Somehow he knew she would be having problems with him having house elves; and frankly, so did he. "Now, please tell me, why did these elves need a place to stay?"

"They be given clothes by their masters and mistresses," the little creature replied sadly, while around two thirds of the gathered elves began looking shamefacedly to the ground. "They be needing magic to sustain them and Potter castle be directly over magical hotspot; it be good for them."

Harry looked at Hermione in surprise; here was something they had never expected. Mostly free from the influence of wizards, these little elves had built some kind of a small society.

"Then they can of course stay," Harry said, before the practicalities caught up to him. "Wait, where do you guys sleep?"

Some of the elves chuckled (chuckled!) a little, while most of them looked just relieved. It was a happy Steward who answered him, "Elveses be sleeping in old servants' quarters; we be building our own beds." At the last sentence, a lot of the elves puffed out their chest a little; it was clear they were proud of their achievement.

"So how did this come to be?" Hermione inquired, obviously no longer able to keep her curiosity in check.

"We elves be getting lonely, with no Potter living at Potter castle; so we went looking for elveses who needed help, because be free," Steward explained, obviously not meeting the requirements Hermione had of a proper retelling of a story. "They not be needing much with all the magic around; whatever elveses did need they could find or Fopey would grow in her garden."

The indicated female elf, Fopey it seemed, blushed a little and nodded eagerly, whipping her ears about wildly. "Fopey be growing herbs and fruit in the castle's garden. Everything elveses need, they have here," she stated proudly, looking about in many happy elven faces.

The whole scene was just too adorable for Harry to bear and he could see Hermione was not faring much better; even Remus seemed much moved by the display of sense of community.

"How come you're all wearing clothes then? Or are you all free elves?" He asked; this was something he really wanted to know, because it could impact the future quite a bit, especially Hermione's upcoming crusade for elf-rights. Making it possible for even unfree elves to wear what a wizard would consider 'decent clothes' could go a long way to changing some mind-sets.

"We be ordered to," Steward replied, as if it was the most natural thing in the world; to him, it probably even was. "Master Harry's father and mother never be here much, she not be liking the castle; but she be giving order for elves to 'find something decent to wear'. It was last order ever given by Mistress Lily."

As Steward seemed to be out of commission for the rest of the story, Fopey took over. "We elveses be looking in library to find out what clothes for servants look like, then we be making it."

This had Harry laughing out loud, while both Remus and Hermione were keeping it better in check. "It seems you stumbled upon a book on the Middle Ages," Harry chuckled back, making the elves look extremely disappointed all of a sudden. Realising his mistake, Harry cushioned the blow, "But I think it looks great on all of you; really fits the mood of the place."

After that, the group retreated through the outer gate with his two portcullises and the gatehouse, through the outer courtyard enclosed by the outer wall and the inner wall set on a further elevated hill, over two more drawbridges and through two more corresponding gatehouses. As they went on, they were introduced to the other two 'original' Potter elves still living at the castle; there was Jarpey, the caretaker and generally also the one who kept the old stones in the supreme condition they could see them in now, and there was Pibley, the Lady-servant. Her job had been less than interesting, so she had taken to other duties in the absence of a 'Lady Potter'.

Along the way they passed what looked like a duelling court and some stables; now they were standing in the castle's main courtyard, looking up at the keep's impressive structure. Jarpey had informed them of the interior layout of the castle's main building and Harry was surprised at the rather modest (at least considering the size of the rest of the castle) facilities contained within; a few bedrooms for family, a great hall that was for both dining and entertaining guests, a sort of 'conference room' where in former times the Lord and his advisers had met and the old 'ladies' room' had been reconfigured as a general sitting room.

On his question why there were no spatial extension charms, or rather enchantments, used, he was firmly reminded that in a building that served a mainly defensive function, having something like that could be bad; he was asked to imagine what would happen if, during a siege, one wall of an enchanted room were to collapse. He had no idea, but it could not be good. And as no one had ever seen the need to retrofit the castle with any enlarging enchantments, it was without them to this day.

The only big retrofits there were, was the addition of magical plumbing (thank Merlin for that, Harry thought) and the retrofit of both the old treasury and the old dungeons, the first of which now held a mostly empty space, free for later use, while the latter held a potions laboratory.

Directly next to the keep and connected to it by an arcade, were guest quarters and a dedicated building for the kitchens, which also housed the servants', or rather house elf quarters. Jarpey proudly demonstrated to Harry where he could see the different steps in refurbishment and addition the castle had taken over the centuries; after it had been pointed out, the differences in both stone and handiwork were clearly visible.

Around the central courtyard were additional, now unused buildings; the old granary, in which the elves stored their limited supplies, the old mess and tavern and the garrison's barracks, the latter two completely empty and like to putting on dust, were it not for the elven inhabitants of the old fortification.

All in all, Harry came to understand this building had been built for function over form and he completely loved the place. While Longbottom Manor, a fortified manor if there ever was one, had given him cool images of armoured knights fighting off bandits, this place conjured up scenes of trebuchets, forgotten kingdoms and fair maidens; although, he was quite happy with the fair maiden he had brought with him.

The castle also gave him one more understanding: Hogwarts 'castle' was severely lacking in its overall actual castleness; the grounds were too large to be easily defensible, there were nor ramparts and arrow-holes. In its form it was fitting for its function, which was being a school.

OOOOOOOO

"Minister Fudge, imagine the media fallout if Sirius Black, who has just been acquitted of his alleged crimes, were to be denied his rights again; not to mention it also involves Harry Potter," Amelia Bones reminded her boss, to the extreme and apparent displeasure of Albus Dumbledore; it seemed they both knew what an attention-whore the minister was.

The portly man with his ridiculous bowler was sitting in his office, facing both Albus Dumbledore and his chief of DMLE at the same time, visibly sweating at having to actually make a real decision for once. It was reasonably clear no one would be giving him an easy out here, and Lucius Malfoy was probably just happy to see the 'light side' take on each other instead of continually trying to pin anything on him.

"But Minister, Sirius Black is clearly damaged from his long stay in Azkaban…" Dumbledore started, with his 'kindly, caring grandfather' allure on full power.

He was interrupted by Amelia, who was getting increasingly fed up with his meddling in justice; it was bad enough he had pushed through that what students did at Hogwarts was out of her jurisdiction, now this was going even a step further. "Something that you had no small part in," she brought up again."

"And it is something I regret deeply," Dumbledore replied, although Amelia thought it seemed quite phoney. "It would really be best if custody be turned over to me; his parents and I were quite close, it is what they would want," the old man tried.

It was time for Amelia's secret weapon. "Really? Because I don't see you named in their will except as the executer; a duty in which, I have to say, you failed spectacularly, Chief Warlock."

"The Potters' will has been opened?" He asked shock visible on his face for a second, before he schooled his features again and the kindly grandfather was back. "Yes, I did not wish for Sirius Black to receive any bequeaths, after all, I was in the assumption he had betrayed the Potters; it would not do for him to receive anything from their legacy."

"Pardon my French here, but _bullshit_!" Amelia exclaimed. "The will clearly states Pettigrew was the secret keeper, which you knew; you were the witness, weren't you?"

"Albus, is that true?" Fudge now demanded, obviously sensing an acute danger to his political clout if one of his close personal advisers were to be openly implicated like this.

"You can bet all your galleons it is, Minister," Amelia confirmed, Dumbledore's disgruntled expression lending credit to her words. "So now, the question becomes, what will you do? I could, of course, make this a case for _open _debate on the Wizengamot, full trial and all; with a press contingent."

Amelia nearly snickered at Fudge's horrified expression and decided to pile on a little bit. "But would you imagine what all the self-serving Lords and Ladies would say, seeing two of their peers' rights are being treated like this; the only other thing this could end with is the werewolf retaining custody of Lord Potter, which would be understood as an insult to all the houses. You could both be out of a job."

The _very _unhappy faces in the room told Amelia she was not the only one acutely aware of this; time to take the spoils. "Of course, the other possibility would be to fast-track Lord Potter's change in guardianship through the bureaucracy; that way the purebloods could be happy their rights are being respected and we all could forget this very unfortunate matter."

She could see she had sold the idea to at least the minister, maybe even Dumbledore. However, she decided to overshoot this one a little more, just to make sure everything went as planned. "It might even curb Mr. Black's ire toward us; after all he could demand substantial restitution from the ministry for his wrongful and illegal incarceration."

A the mention of money leaving the ministry in high amounts Fudge blanched just that tiny bit more she had wanted to see; now she had him firmly in her corner, at least for the moment. Dumbledore was now seriously side-lined, because she did not need him to push things through the usual channels.

No, by the end of the Easter holidays Harry Potter would be with his rightful guardian.

OOOOOOOO

"Lord and Lady Greengrass, Miss Greengrass, please follow me," Sableclaw greeted the Greengrass family in a most neutral voice as they stepped inside the main hall of Gringotts bank. These wand-wielders were to be treated with respect, but not curtesy, as they had shown neither contempt nor honour towards the goblins; they were to be treated neutral until they proved they should receive anything different.

"Greetings," the Lord Greengrass replied, using the human equivalent of the goblin's neutral tone and expression. "We were told to appear here for an appointment regarding a contract."

"That is correct," Sableclaw confirmed. "I have been asked to escort you to your meeting with my client."

"You would not happen to be able to tell me who that client actually is?" Lady Greengrass inquired, eliciting a small smirk on her daughter's face; it seemed she had omitted that detail in telling her parents about the contract. Now, Sableclaw was looking forward to the meeting even more.

"I am terribly sorry, but that would be way outside what I, as a mere financial adviser, am allowed," he said, secretly enjoying the annoyed look on these wizards' faces. It seemed hey were putting on a nice face for him; maybe putting them in front of a teller would be more _telling _as to their behaviour.

Internally chuckling at his own wordplay, he bade them to follow him; he led the three through corridor after corridor, choosing one of them simply to annoy his guests a little; it was the parallel corridor to another one, but it was built in the goblin way, and most importantly, height. The two adults had to duck down just far enough to make it really uncomfortable.

Therefore, when they reached the doors of the conference room set aside for today's meeting, he was almost sad to see his fun end this soon; inside, they were awaited by a delegation of Sirius Black (the family shuddered a little), Harry Potter and his muggleborn, bushy haired friend.

The elder Greengrasses were looking around questioningly, as if waiting for a crazy scientist/inventor to show up out of nothingness; alas they were disappointed.

"What is this, goblin?" Lord Greengrass demanded in what for goblins was merely an unpleasant tone, considering what they were used to. "I was told we would meet with the inventor of those Scanner Glasses; instead you show us into a room with two children and a recently acquitted convict."

As Sableclaw simply glared at the man, showing his teeth a little, he could hear the little voice of Daphne from behind her parents. "Father… father, these 'children' are the inventors," she said meekly, as if trying to sink into the ground and never come back up. What Sableclaw now estimated to have been a prank seemed to have misfired quite severely. "Please don't be mad," the young girl begged, and Sableclaw could see a slight tightening around Lord Potter's eyes. Obviously, he did not like the meek behaviour of the young Greengrass daughter around her father, either.

However, at the man's next words, his face cleared up significantly. "Of course not, princess but in the future, when it's about business, please give me all the information." The young girl just nodded, looking to the ground in shame, though she was a lot less cowed than before.

OOOOOOOO

Harry watched Xavier, Cypress and their eldest daughter enter the conference room. Watching the byplay between father and daughter, and Daphne's rather meek behaviour worried him, although some of those worries were abated when the father chose to comfort his daughter and made a rather reasonable demand of her.

"Lord Greengrass, as you might have guessed already, I am Harry James Potter, the Duke of Potter and together the delectable Ms. Granger here and I invented the Scanner Glasses," he said in his best understatedly threatening voice; not malicious, just guarded and warning.

"Your Grace, Ms. Granger, an honour to meet you; this is…" he started, but was interrupted by Harry, who chose being rude over being courteous to make the right impression here; however young they might look, they were not to be trifled with.

"Cypress Greengrass," he stated curtly. Sketching a small bow he greeted, "An honour to meet you, Lady Greengrass."

The tone of the talk stayed pretty much the same after that; friendly, but not overly so. They finally agreed on a 70/30 share as planned and all the details for the contract as Harry and Hermione had specified to Daphne. Obviously Greengrass Elixirs stood to earn a lot of money from this for them to agree to such a restrictive contract.

OOOOOOOO

It was the day before the end of the Easter break and Harry and Hermione were strolling around the battlements of Potter Castle. They had managed to talk both Sirius and Remus into staying there during the break and both would be returning to their own homes after dropping the two 'children' off at King's Cross the next day; although Sirius had put up quite the fight over accepting his part of the inheritance, as it of course turned out he had actually never been disinherited. Still, knowing Grimmauld Place and how depressive it could make a person, Harry had insisted on Sirius taking the Isle of Scilly; the sea climate would even help with his recovery.

"Can you believe that in a few months I've changed guardians _twice_?" Harry asked his girlfriend standing beside him, gazing down onto the not-so-far English Channel. "To imagine I never got rid of the Dursleys the last time, and now I'm not even done with first year and am already away from them."

Could she believe it? Of course, but that made it no less mind-boggling; she voiced that sentiment and received immediate confirmation he was feeling the same.

"You know, at first you having a place like this made me really self-conscious, just like all that nobility stuff," she admitted, laying down her head on his shoulder. ""But I have to admit I love it here; the only downside is it lacks a library…"

Hermione could both feel and hear Harry chuckle under her head. "I was thinking the same; just like it needs a workspace to properly work on all the stuff in my head wanting to get outside," he declared. "But there're three empty buildings worth of space to fill with stuff like that; depending on some of the ideas I have there might also be an addition to the potions lab o work with non-magical chemicals, probably a duelling room somewhere, beside the duelling arena…"

Stopping in the middle of pronouncing his ideas, Harry started laughing again and with laughter in his voice (Hermione never tired of hearing that), he added, "I'm going to need a bigger castle, aren't I?"

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hi,

In the coming weeks updates might be more sparse because I have an exam the coming Friday and am also tutoring a group of first years in anatomy starting Monday.

Also, just as an FYI: I do not have an AO3 (Archive of our Own) account yet, I will make one when it becomes an issue; when the time comes, I will inform you by AN.

Thanks for the reviews on last chapter, keep them coming.

alexandertheII


	22. Chapter 22: Back to Not-a-Castle

**Chapter 22: Back to Not-a-Castle**

„Master Harry be wishing more eggs? More bacon, maybe? Or some more toast?" The high, somewhat overeager voice of Fopey, the self-proclaimed cooking-elf, broke through the silent sounds of eating in Potter Castle's hall.

Hermione was equal parts miffed and amused by the situation; miffed, because the vehement refusal of the elves to call Harry just that made the prospects of her getting equal rights for them even harder than thought before, and amused because of the mightily annoyed look on her Harry's face. At least he did not enjoy being called master.

Her amusement turned to the same annoyance, although more pronounced, when the little creature turned towards her. "Missy Miney be wanting anything more?"

The elves, probably due to their problem with any sort of normal speech, had taken to calling her _that _instead. Missy, because the elves knew she was somehow special, although not mistress and Miney because they just could not pronounce her name; she blamed her parents for that. A nickname would be great, but the only thing people ever came up with was 'Mione; it was just the same, only shorter. However, with her not liking her name, only making it shorter did not really work for Hermione.

"No; but thank you very much, Fopey," she replied to the small female elf's question. Just to prove she could be as stubborn as the elves she added, "And It is Hermione, or if you can't pronounce that," she cringed a little as she forced herself to say it, "Miney."

"Oh no, Missy Miney, that not be proper," the little cook responded, before whisking off to put more food on Sirius' plate, as he still looked quite skittish, according to Fopey.

On the chair next to her she could hear someone snickering; she looked towards the sound and glared at her boyfriend who simply mouthed back, "Karma." This finally brought the smile back to Hermione's face, something that had been missing most of the morning, for one crucial reason; she did not want to go.

Seemingly able to read her like she would him, or an open book for that matter, Harry winked at her once and said, "Hey, I don't want to go back to Hogwarts either. But just think about all our friends we'll see again."

Thinking about this for a while, imagining all the things yet to do and all the interesting things to learn, widened her smile some more; she was really looking forward to seeing Susan, Hannah, Daphne, Tracey and Neville again, although she would be interrogating Daphne a little, after the scene with her father in Gringotts; her behaviour that day had be very much unlike her.

Setting these morose thoughts aside for a while, she returned to what was left of her strengthening breakfast; two slices of bacon and the remaining porridge later she felt about ready to face a day of sitting in an exceedingly slow steam-engine bound for Hogwarts.

At least there would be good company.

OOOOOOOO

It was half past ten and the group consisting of Remus, Sirius, Harry and Hermione was already at King's Cross; after the various experiences of coming late with the Weasleys both Harry and Hermione had insisted on being there extra early. Now that they were there, they were pretty much alone, aside from a few older Slytherins getting the 'final briefing' ,as Sirius called it, from their parents and a group of fourth year Ravenclaws eagerly discussing the merits of returning to school; probably the reason they were early, they were just so eager.

This left the four of them in a bit of an awkward situation, as things between Remus and the others were still somewhat tense. Harry could remember that, during the old timeline, Sirius and Remus had easily and immediately forgiven each other for the mutual suspicions they had carried during the latter part of the war, but it seemed this would not exactly be the case this time.

Both Harry and Hermione were sure the change was due to something they had done, namely exposing Dumbledore's machinations. The diverging opinions regarding the old man had become a spark at which several other conflicts had ignited, from his continued loyalty toward the façade of Albus 'leader of the light' Dumbledore to him not taking care of little Harry after his parents' deaths.

All in all, probably even more reason to leave Potter Castle, but still Harry was as sad as Hermione at having to leave; he would miss their walks on the battlements, the little elves running around being all excited over something or other, the adorable medieval costumes; it all felt homey to him, somehow, just like the rest of the castle.

Obviously hoping to end the awkward situation, probably mixed with genuine exhaustion after his rather short period of recuperation, Sirius proposed they split there and Harry and Hermione should simply look for a compartment for them and their friends.

He hugged Hermione, whispering something in her ear; then he turned to his godson and ward and enveloped him in as strong a hug as his still emaciated frame could support. "I'll miss you two," he whispered in Harry's ear. "You got yourself a keeper with her, you know. If you were just friends that would be fine as well, and I would never nudge either of you into anything not of your choosing, but I think you two are a great match, young as you are."

Released from the old dog's hug, Harry looked up at him and simply nodded. With a stern look he totally botched Sirius looked at Hermione, then at Harry and at Hermione again. "Now, you two: Keep each other and those friends of yours safe and away from Dumbledore's schemes," this provoked a snort from Remus, who had been listening in, "and write, once-in-a-while."

"We will," Harry assured.

"And if he doesn't," Hermione added, smirking at Harry from the side, "I'll make him."

With their modest amount of luggage (it had only been the Easter break, after all) the young couple made their way into the train and placed themselves in one of the many empty compartments, close to an exit for later ease of quickly getting a carriage despite their small body-size.

The two of them enjoyed the last few minutes before the other students would show up cuddling on one of the seats, with Hermione sitting on Harry's lap and simply, and most importantly quietly, enjoying their closeness. When the first other returners started stepping onto the train they disentangled themselves and went back to sitting as close as socially acceptable for 'just friends'.

They were soon joined by Tracey and the petite blonde immediately started chattering away while giving out a whole army's rations worth of candy she had been supplied with by her parents. Counting the amount of information obviously needing to flee from inside her, the break had been longer than Easter break usually was; or, ever energetic Tracey might simply have put a lot in that time.

The next to join their little travelling circus was Neville; he looked a little less exuberant than Tracey, which, given her enthusiasm, was not that hard. He proudly started talking about the new plants he had potted at home and how sad he found it that he was not allowed to bring something to the school just now, because his grandmother thought it to be a bad idea somehow.

One after the other the rest of their friends showed up, the last of which was the one who they had actually wanted, and dreaded, to talk to; Daphne looked despondent and was clearly avoiding looking at Hermione and Harry all too closely. The two adults trapped in children's bodies had decided that only one of them, and then Hermione, would try to talk with Daphne about the scene they had witnessed.

Just like that, before the time had any opportunity to become long the Hogwarts Express was leaving behind London, and with it, one very worried dog animagus.

OOOOOOOO

In the train compartment, talk was turning towards Harry and Hermione's break. "So, what have you two been up to? I mean, despite shaking wizarding Britain to the core with that Sirius Black thing; Auntie was ragged after that process," Susan asked with a slight chuckle.

Harry gave a short laugh and started sharing everything, just like he and Hermione had agreed. "Well, I claimed headship of House Potter…"

At this, Hermione just had to butt in, "If you want a new way to tease him, just insist on calling him 'Your Grace'."

"…besides that," Harry continued as if Hermione had not spoken at all, "I have a new guardian _again _because Sirius is free and we don't really trust Remus to stand up to Dumbledore all that well."

This caused a few moments of silence all through the compartment; although they were all at least wary of the old man, imagining his ability to influence something as something to be avoided at all costs was disconcerting to even those who did not trust him at all; it simply showed how far that influence went and how badly it had been used in Harry's case.

"Don't forget that deal we made with Greengrass Elixirs," Hermione reminded, all the while keeping a close eye on Daphne, who seemed to sink deeper in her seat than before as if to not catch any errant glances. "It was quite the accomplishment."

"Oh yes, of course; how could I forget," Harry answered, throwing Hermione a knowing look and then looking at Daphne. If she wanted to, and thought it necessary, she could still be a little pushy, the only difference being that she was more subtle now.

"Also, His Grace, the Duke of Potter, Earl of Hereford and Viscount Welles has conveniently forgotten to mention inspecting his ancestral fortress, Potter Castle," Hermione continued driving him into the tree; of course he had not forgotten, but it felt too much like bragging to mention it now.

"Oh you have a castle? That's soooo awesome," Tracey commented, looking gleeful at the thought.

"Yes, I have a castle," Harry replied, already annoyed with all the attention.

"Although I would have expressed it differently," Hannah interceded, looking rather happy as well, "I think this is 'soooo awesome' as well. You know my parents met at one of these medieval fairs, right?"

This particular revelation stunned all the occupants and the faces looking back at Hannah were all clearly saying, "Tell us more!"

"Well, mom used to work on one of these as a barmaid when she was younger," she explained. "Dad used to go to these because he found them incredibly funny and always wanted to decorate his home with old weapons and stuff; you get that there. She served him ale and that's how they met."

Obviously disregarding her friend's story as either only mildly interesting or already knowing of it, Susan turned the interrogation back to Harry. "So, tell us more: What does it look like? Is it as big as Hogwarts, have any ghosts or an armoury? Oh, do you have house elves like auntie does?"

Counting the questions in his head so he would not miss one and therefore give an opening for further investigation into the topic, Harry started answering. "Well, it looks like a castle; high walls, drawbridges, all that stuff. And no, it is _way _smaller than Hogwarts. We've come to find Hogwarts is not really a _castle _in the classical sense; it is built as a school." He made a small break, giving Hermione the opportunity to lead with her very favourite topic.

"Oh, the house elves are so adorable; there's twenty-two," she said to the astonished gasps of five children obviously misinterpreting this information, prompting Hermione to correct their assumptions. "Only four of them are part of the Potter family," the excited young witch explained. "The rest are elves that have been given clothes and needed a place to stay and the Potter elves were getting lonely; apparently, Potter castle was built above some sort of magical nexus, making it a great place for free elves to live."

The news was received with more stunned silence, especially by the purebloods. Harry suspected that they knew of the practice of giving elves clothes but did not think there would be such a high number of them anywhere or that they could actually be _happy_; that could be aa game-changer for the future of wizard-elf-relationships, as much was clear to even Harry with his minimal, albeit increasing, knowledge of wizarding culture and politics.

In an effort to refocus conversation on a less controversial topic, Harry looked at Hermione, winked and reminded her, "Think of the clothes."

"Oh, yes; these elves…"

OOOOOOOO

"Well, do we expect an invitation from the headmaster to be forthcoming this fine evening?" Harry asked cheekily, grinning at Hermione who was walking next to him towards the great hall for supper. "And more importantly; what if it does come? Smack him down or play around with his fears a little?"

This prompted some thought on Hermione's part; on the one hand, facing Dumbledore at the moment was certainly a danger, but on the other hand, their Occlumency was becoming steadily stronger; by now it should be strong enough to slow Dumbledore's advance at least as long as it took to take some alternative action against the man.

"I think we, or rather you, because that is who's going to be called in, should go, if Dumbledore somehow claims this is school business; if it isn't, or if he again does not deign to inform you of the reason backing down now would seem weak," Hermione analysed the situation, mightily put out that having such a conversation was needed for dealing with someone holding as important and respected an office as that of headmaster; Harry just nodded and affirmed this was the best way to deal with the situation he could think of as well.

As expected, just before dinner Professor McGonagall made her way over to the Gryffindor table where Harry and Hermione were currently enjoying their evening.

"Mr. Potter," she greeted him, before turning her sights on Hermione. "Ms. Granger, I trust you enjoyed your break and are prepared to let us teaching staff see more of your capabilities now that you have had some time away from the school to… relax after the year's rather rough start."

Not to be fooled by honeyed words, Hermione looked at the deputy headmistress who currently was reduced to an errant girl for Dumbledore and gave her a questioning gaze. "How can we help, Professor?"

With a small sigh as if she did not exactly agree with the great Dumbledore's plans here but was unwilling to contradict her hero, she turned back to Harry and said, "Mr. Potter, the headmaster summons you to his office after supper; he bid me to include that he enjoys Milky Way." The stern and serious teacher huffed a little at what she obviously perceived as unnecessary silliness.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry spoke up now, giving the transfiguration teacher almost the same questioning look Hermione had before. "Might I know what this summons is about so I can prepare accordingly? After all, I have hardly been here long enough to warrant a visit to the headmaster's office as a disciplinary action."

With another sigh, probably at being reminded of their last encounter of this kind where Harry and Hermione had rather publicly decried Dumbledore, something that had not seemed to sit well with her, McGonagall answered, "He wanted to talk with you about the matter of a scholarship, if I have been informed correctly." She did not have to add that this was school-related and therefore it was in the headmaster's remit to summon a pupil for a discussion on the matter; however, Hermione just could not let one thing slide.

"A scholarship? What an honour," she gushed, maybe a tad more dramatic than she had intended. "I have never heard of anything like a scholarship at Hogwarts; what are the prerequisites of admission?"

Now looking as if she had bit in not one but ten of Albus' lemon-drops, McGonagall answered, "It has rarely been given out; it is a stipend and help for children from unstable family environments who show a lot of promise."

Quietly seething about the 'unstable family environment' and wondering what exactly Dumbledore meant by that, be it Harry's recent and frequent change in guardians or his previous placement with his 'loving' relatives; if that was the case, Dumbledore had known about the kind of care he had received with the Dursleys, which would make her loathing for the old man even more intense.

All the while Harry, who she took for having more than anyone else reason to distrust the old meddler and his honeyed words seemed oddly unconcerned. As she voiced this opinion, he only shrugged and answered, "Well, whatever he plans on doing, he can only lose; we already know he is up to something, so when I come back, you will check me for any nefarious influences, while I will be trying to throw him off his game as much as possible."

His self-satisfied smirk told her whatever the old man's plan for this meeting was, and as her boyfriend turned to McGonagall again and responded now loud enough to be heard by her, "I will go to the headmaster's office after dinner and request that, as Head of Gryffindor, you accompany me."

"Very well, Mr. Potter."

OOOOOOOO

"Come in, my boy," the annoyingly jovial voice of Albus Dumbledore greeted from behind the door, against which Harry had just planned to knock. He wondered how the old man always knew when and even who was before his door. Now that he was thinking about it, maybe it was only with Harry that he knew; Hermione would have to check him for tracking charms again, later.

Harry opened the door and took a step through it, towards the old meddler who had destroyed such a big part of his life. Looking around the room he noticed a distinct lack of presence in the form of one Minerva McGonagall; it wasn't that he thought that she, follower of Albus that she was, would do anything when the old man started manipulating again, but seeing it happen would gnaw a little at the pedestal she was putting him on. Also, having a witness never hurt.

"Professor," Harry greeted, putting emphasis on using the man's actual appropriate title. Wishing to poke him a little, he added, "Albus."

This seemed to set Dumbledore a little bit off course, but he was well-versed in politics and Harry was sure what had just happened would not hold a candle to the scheming and caballing going on around the Wizengamot; still, if the old meddler insisted on talking to Harry with more familiarity than he wished for, expressly so, Harry could do the same. Without letting his opponent have the time to recover, Harry forged on.

"You see, I asked you to call me Mr. Potter, but since you ignored that and actually cranked the familiarity with which you address me up a notch, I thought I would just do the same, without asking first; just like you did," he said completely void of any outwardly shown emotion. "Actually, talking about things I asked for that were ignored: Where is Professor McGonagall? I asked for her presence."

Obviously happy to have another topic to focus Harry on, Dumbledore showed a small smile on his face; it seemed the question was expected and looked forward to. "Ah yes, our esteemed Professor McGonagall was indeed here, but I asked her to leave again, because I wanted to talk with you alone, so we could get to know each other a little better."

Giving back Dumbledore's phoney smile, Harry chuckled a little and looked him in the eyes, amused as he could see Dumbledore averting his eyes. "Nevertheless, as this is about a scholarship I would like for her to be here; or is that not what you wanted to talk to me about?"

A slight frown graced Dumbledore's features a little, before he could get his face back under control and he responded, "Of course, Mr. Potter; I shall ask her to come back. It could take some time, so why don't we just talk a little while we wait?"

"Why not, Professor," Harry responded, a little amused by the way Dumbledore had now managed to gain at least a little time alone with him. "So, tell me about this scholarship."

"Ah, why don't we wait with that until my deputy is here for that, should we? Let us talk about Hogwarts a little, what do you think of magic, now that you know about it?"

Not one to ignore a great opportunity, Harry surged forward. "Oh, so you knew I wasn't told about magic? I have to say, magic is very impressive; I have to say though, the magical society is a little disappointing."

"That is sad, my boy. How is it disappointing?" Dumbledore inquired with a most sad expression showing on his face. "I rather enjoy magical society."

Harry was getting increasingly annoyed with this charade. "Sir, if you'll allow me the question; are you a pure-blooded wizard born in Britain?"

Now visibly miffed at being questioned by an apparent eleven year-old, Dumbledore answered, "No, my mother was muggleborn and my father a pureblood; that would make me a half-blood. Would you care to enlighten me, why you ask?"

"I would like to answer with another question: How much easier do you think your gender and your blood-status have made it for you than for my friend, Hermione?" Harry demanded, very happy about the clueless expression on the old man's face.

He was spared having to give an answer, not that it would have contained much information, by McGonagall knocking on the door; either, there were actually tracking charms on Harry, or Dumbledore had just been so distracted by actually being questioned by one of the pupils he was used to being worshipped by.

"Albus, how may I help you?" The stern professor asked as she entered the room; looking between Harry and Dumbledore, her face clearly signalised she already had at least an inkling of what the reason for her summons was. "I assume Mr. Potter insisted I be here, just like he told me?"

"Indeed, Minerva; he displays the admirable quality of wanting to gather as many opinions as possible before making a decision," the old meddler greeted his minion, while also trying to butter up; Harry was sad to think this would have worked on him the last time around, even as he got older.

"Thank you, Headmaster," he responded, not missing the smug smile on the man's face. "Now, please tell me about this scholarship I'm supposedly eligible for; I would hate to think that that was pretence just to get me alone."

McGonagall was looking at him wide-eyed, the reason for that expression not completely clear to Harry; Dumbledore on the other hand was looking as if someone had taken all his lemon-drops. He was definitely miffed.

"Yes, the scholarship; it is a scholarship for young muggleborn or –raised students who display great potential. The only other prerequisite is the need on the pupil's side for such help," Dumbledore explained. "An unstable family situation could be considered as such."

Harry looked at both Albus and Minerva a long while; the former was looking eagerly at him, obviously looking very much forward to whatever plan he had concocted to influence Harry with this, while the latter was looking rather doubtful, almost as if she knew Albus was underestimating Harry.

"That is interesting," the boy in question responded calmly. "Just so there is no one who can later say I got this as a handout because I'm 'the boy-who-lived' or whatever they come up with next; what exactly is my need?"

Dumbledore was getting more and more annoyed as time went on, visibly so, at least if one was looking properly.

"Well, it could certainly argued that your familial background…" Dumbledore started but was calmly but firmly interrupted by Harry.

"I know what you mean, but what exactly?" Harry stormed on; he wanted the old man to say it out loud, as it would give him an idea of Dumbledore's plans.

"Well, your way of growing up has not been…"

Since coming back, Harry had been rather level-headed, if he himself said so, but this was taking it one too far. "SO YOU KNEW?!" He screamed, letting go of some of the anger he felt inside. "You knew how I was treated with my loving family and yet you never did a thing?"

Harry took a long breath and enjoyed the shocked look on Dumbledore's face and the slight glare he was getting from McGonagall, before he continued with a long huff. "And now you actually want to give me a scholarship for what you yourself made possible, even let go on? What did you hope to get from me, huh? That I wouldn't 'bother' the police with this? Or that me accepting this could be swayed to look like me saying Sirius is an unstable environment, so you could send me back to my abusers?"

Dumbledore's gulp told Harry the last guess had hit the nail right on the head; he had to admit it was a good plan, but Dumbledore was just not used to his chess-pieces developing wills and thoughts of their own.

"Thank you, but no, thank you," he declared, before turning around. Just as he was about to bang the door, he turned around again. "Instead, why don't you give that scholarship to someone who actually needs it, someone whose life it could change, instead of using it to manipulate my life?"

Having said his part, he did what he had planned to do all along; he slammed the door.

From the outside no less.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hi all,

Have my exam behind me (successfully, btw), thanks for those who dropped good wishes. Now I never have to attend a lecture in either Physiology or Physics again.

Hope you like the new chapter, leave reviews, as always.

Enjoy your day,

alexandertheII


	23. Chapter 23: Acts of Liberation

**Chapter 23: Acts of Liberation**

"Daphne, I think we should have a talk," Hermione stated bluntly as she finally managed to get her friend alone for the first time since their return a few days ago. "I know you are probably… reluctant, but please tell me what's going on," she implored the black-haired young witch.

Daphne was visibly squirming now; whatever it was, it was obviously bad. "Is this about what happened at Gringotts? If Harry and I are the reason you're in trouble with your parents…"

"No!" She was interrupted by a shocked Daphne, looking at her wide-eyed. "It's just…"

Under Hermione's questioning gaze the girl quivered a little, before visibly gathering her wits and courage about her and starting to explain. "It is about you, at least kind of; remember when I told you about my parents only needing some time before they got used to the fact I was friends with Harry Potter and a muggleborn?"

"I do," Hermione answered suspiciously, already getting a sort of premonition where this was leading. "Let me guess: They need a little more than time?"

Daphne only managed to nod sadly, while Hermione could see her eyes getting just a little wet; her parents not accepting her friends had never been an issue with her, they simply had not cared that much, although this was the first time it ever seemed at least remotely a good thing for some reason.

"I…" her friend sniffed a little, "I thought they would be alright with you, but now they keep saying all these things about 'blood purity' and 'upstart little mudbloods."

Now she completely broke down; hearing her own parents talk about her friend like that, even having been raised on at least some of the pureblood supremacy idea, this seemed to be too much for her to accept and process. In between sobs the distressed girl managed to continue talking, "And… and I was so looking forward to coming to Harry's over the break, or maybe even to your place," at this, Hermione sucked in her breath a little; meeting her parents was not the best first impression for a young pureblood to get of the non-magical world.

Eventually, there was only one thing Hermione could do; she opened her arms for the younger girl to slip into and enveloped the sobbing witch in a hug.

"Shhh, it's alright. Everything's going to be just fine," she tried to soothe, although she herself did not really believe it. This was a dimension she and Harry had not really thought of during their numerous planning sessions; if the old families saw their power endangered, their attitudes would harden, hence the Greengrasses' reactions. That coupled with the fallout of Voldemort's re-appearance warranted re-planning. For now, though, there was a friend who needed support.

Squeezing her friend a little closer than before, guessing she needed it as well, Hermione continued in a soothing voice, "Hey, why don't you tell me what happened? I hear talking about it helps."

She led her friend all the way along the corridors, through a secret door that spewed them out on the sixth floor and up some stairs to the Room of Requirement, which promptly supplied them with a comfortable sitting room, containing just a sofa, a fireplace and some décor.

A few minutes went by before, with a decisive sniff and blinking of her eyes, Daphne started regaling Hermione with her story. "It was just after we came back from Gringotts with the schematics and the contract. Daddy was putting everything in place for the production of your glasses when I tried telling him again that I was sorry for not telling him about, well, you two being the inventors and all."

Again Daphne went quiet for a time, just staring into the distance as if in another time. "I've never seen him that mad, Hermione; not even when Tori destroyed half the living room because she got upset about her Christmas presents once. He was ranting about 'letting him go in unprepared' and him now being unable to 'squeeze the damn mudblood and the blood traitor for every penny'."

Obviously misinterpreting Hermione's look of anger, she hurried to continue, "Oh, I'm sorry for saying that, Hermione; I just wanted to say exactly what he said and…"

However, her apology was cut short by Hermione growling out her next sentence. "Oh, I'm not angry at you, Daphne. Just tell me if I understood you correctly; your father was upset about you not telling him who we were because that cost him the opportunity to get more money than he does now?" Receiving a nod, she continued, "And somehow, the fact we're both raised in the non-magical world counts into that?" Again her question was followed by a nod from Daphne. "And now he's pressuring you to… what is he trying to make you do?"

Obviously, this was not exactly an easy question to answer, because the moment Hermione asked, she was once again engaged in a mighty hug very unfitting for the usually reserved young witch in front of her. With quivering voice, she picked up her tale again, "He said I should tell him about what you do, where you go and stuff; and then he said I better not let him be unprepared again, or… or… or he'd get me betrothed to some old pureblood."

Hermione frowned even more at that news; she could not stand injustice and inequality and the idea of a father forcing his daughter to do something she did not want to by ways of threatening her with an arranged marriage certainly counted as both.

"Do you know what happened that made him act like this?" Hermione inquired, although she did not hold out much hope for an accurate answer; this girl was not even twelve and even showing this much defiance with such a threat looming over her was remarkable.

"Nooo," Daphne exclaimed, frustration clear in her voice. Hermione could understand that; parents were supposed to be heroes for their children until age and time, those cruel unrelenting forces, stripped away layer after layer of their pedestal. The pedestal of Daphne's father had just collapsed outright, under the eyes of what was way too young a girl. "I just know he was really upset when the thing about Voldemort hit the news, Tori told me; and I heard him muttering about there 'not being any neutrality this time', but I have no idea what this has to do with me and my friends."

Of course she did not, and Hermione knew that had to hurt; she however knew very well what this meant: When it came to it, the Greengrass family would, at least for the moment, side with Voldemort and his merry band of thugs.

OOOOOOOO

"What did you find out?" Harry asked his girlfriend as he entered the Room of Requirement that evening for their pre-arranged meeting; he had been very worried about Daphne as well.

"I think we might have another future Death Eater on our hands, this time he's even the father of one of our friends," she answered him dejectedly. Harry looked back at her sadly; he had really hoped something like this would not happen but, considering he and Hermione were branching out concerning friendships it was probably unavoidable. While not all children in Slytherin and not all parents of those were blood purists or even Death Eaters, there were sure to be many of the former and a good number of the latter.

"I don't really understand why he signed that business deal with us then…" He mused out loud, feeling bad immediately for thinking of business before his friend. "Not that it matters over Daphne's happiness, just wondering," he declared quickly.

"I know what you mean," Hermione assured and reinforced the verbal utterance of her opinion with a short peck on his lips. "And I think he is doing what any real Slytherin would; he can profit from our deal, so he keeps it going. I'm definitely very happy we had the goblins go through the contract with a fine-toothed comb, though."

This made Harry chuckle a little, although it was completely without mirth. Now that he was thinking about it properly, quarrelling with Xavier Greengrass was a problem on several levels: Firstly, the business deal that was supposed to get them the needed capital for starting up their company had now an exceedingly sour taste; secondly, their potions tuition was depending on their standing with Greengrass Elixirs, or at least on the fact that Harry's presence was probably the only reason the lessons were allowed; thirdly, and most importantly, no less, it put Daphne into a hell of an awkward situation.

Hermione seemed to get to some of the same conclusions as he did, and she started filling him in on the rest of her talk with Daphne. "It seemed he was really shaken by the fact that Tom was still around, something about 'no neutrality this time' and he seems to have dug up some old prejudices alongside that fear; he actually ordered Daphne to spy on us and threatened he would draw up a betrothal with some old pureblood should she not comply."

This actually shook Harry to his core; the idea of Daphne being forced into an unhappy marriage as punishment for her befriending him and Hermione did not sit well with him, to say the least. Sadly, their possible ways of reacting to this were severely limited as long as they were inside the castle and without possibility to safely contact anyone outside…

"Wait a second," Harry suddenly piped up. "Steward!"

With a pop the ludicrously dressed house elf appeared inside the Room of Requirement, inquisitively looking at both Harry and 'Missy Miney'.

"Master Harry be calling Steward," he determined. "How can Steward be helping Master Harry?"

Harry gave both his girlfriend and, he still thought this only reluctantly, his head-elf a roguish grin and declared, "Oh, at the moment it is just enough to know you can freely pop through the wards, but I guarantee there will be some interesting deliveries in the future; say, can you point out one of your elvish friends who likes to play pranks?"

OOOOOOOO

"Daphne," Harry whispered loud enough he could just as well have spoken normally, only that would have been without straining his voice. "Meet me and Hermione in the Room of Requirement after dinner, alright? We might have a way to buy you some time with your father."

The girl's eyes grew wide and she nodded more enthusiastically than at any time since she had returned from the break. Meanwhile, Harry and Hermione made their way from the entrance hall into the Great Hall where everyone was gathering for a nice and pleasant Saturday lunch; of course, only Harry and Hermione knew that lunch would not be as tranquil as expected for at least one resident of Hogwarts.

Just about head-high and in front of Dumbledore's throne they could see the parchment holding the message that would hopefully have Dumbledore completely out of his wits. Earlier that week, shortly after the incident with Daphne, they had decided to release more than one person from their suffering: Dumbledore was only the first of that illustrious club.

So there, in front of where he would later place his crooked nose for the meal, was the missive informing Dumbledore of the continued safety of the Philosopher's Stone. The fact that the message was not much more than that, coupled with an amalgamation of order and request to contact the Flamels would probably wrinkle the old man most; he was just too used to be able to know everything and control everyone.

The reason no one else was looking at the parchment was simple: A rune-based Notice-Me-Not, so they did not leave a magical signature, keyed exclusively to Dumbledore. That Harry and Hermione were able to see the note was only due to them already _knowing _of its existence and placement; therefore, a charm preventing anyone from taking notice was useless against them.

The second person soon to be delivered from living hell was Daphne; instead of being torn between being ordered to spy on her friends and her wish not to do so out of loyalty to them both (the Sorting Hat speaking of finding 'true friends' inside Slytherin came to mind) she would have the possibility of satisfying both demands, albeit not completely.

Last but not least was Rita 'the Beetle' Skeeter; they had decided she had had enough time to 're-evaluate' her life choices and she would be let out of the jar that very afternoon.

As Harry was recapitulating everything that was to happen that day, he watched Albus Dumbledore walk towards his seat in the centre of the staff table where the note, placed by a very enthusiastic, to put it mildly, free elf by the name of Fips was floating. The moment Dumbledore's behind touched his seat the keying of the small ward activated, revealing the parchment to Dumbledore, and him alone.

"_Come on, old man; just take the note," _Harry thought excitedly, all the while trying not to stare at the head table and generally look inconspicuous. His hopes were fulfilled as the old meddler plucked the message out of the air and, in typical Dumbledore fashion, read it so no one else could.

Hermione threw him a glance, visibly shaking with suppressed laughter and making some rather funny grimaces while holding it back; Harry supposed this was quite justified, as he gave Dumbledore a short look; the shock and indignation at the news and being treated like a mere messenger to whoever the thief was did obviously not sit with him well.

With the first part of their agenda done, Harry and Hermione retreated to the Room of Requirement after lunch. Now finally able to laugh out loud the young couple completely broke down, as some of the tension left their bodies.

"Did you…" Hermione pressed out between bouts of laughter, "Did you see his face?"

Harry took a moment, while he was laughing of course to ponder the changes Hermione had gone through; there was no mistaking it, she was still Hermione, complete with her unquenchable thirst for knowledge, her ambition and her caring nature, but there was something different about her as well: For this Hermione, authority was not something that could be trusted, but to be questioned and contradicted at every turn. For this Hermione, the reason for rules to exist was to ponder when accepting and enforcing them was good, and when it had the capacity to lead to bad things.

"Hermione Granger being amused by a prank played on the headmaster," Harry chuckled. "I have officially seen everything."

With a huff she replied, "Hey, I'm very funny, you have to know. As for the pranking aspect, I have a problem with pranks that can go bad real quick, like many of those prank products from Zonko's," she declared.

Harry winked at her, smiling over yet another classical Hermione feature: the emotional rant, although this one had been rather short.

Seemingly eager to change the topic, Hermione drew a glass jar with a water beetle from her bag. Looking around she seemed to be checking the place they had been supplied with was indeed inescapable for a little insect; then she opened the jar.

The beetle, faithfully fed by the young couple with everything a beetle needed to survive (switching spells were a great invention), zoomed out of its prison and promptly started searching around the room for some way out; Harry and Hermione let it be, secure in the knowledge there was none.

After a few minutes of fruitless search, Rita seemed to come to the same conclusion and the water beetle settled on a chair before, in almost an instant, it was replaced by a somewhat dishevelled looking woman with garish sense of style, as far as Harry was concerned.

"You insolent little brats…" she started, only to be promptly interrupted by Harry.

"Ta ta ta, Ms. Skeeter you wouldn't want to say anything you wold regret later, now would you?" He said patronizingly. "Please, sit down; I have an offer for you, an offer you can't refuse."

OOOOOOOO

"When did you watch 'The Godfather'?" Hermione asked her boyfriend, looking at him curiously; he had that cheeky, lopsided smile again.

"Would you believe me if I said I had read the book?" He inquired with a wink in both his face and his voice. "I never really had much opportunity to watch movies, but the library is a great place to hang out when you don't want to be bothered by Dudley and his merry band of idiots."

Hermione only huffed in annoyance; there was another point that would have to be dealt with at some point: How to deal with those sorry excuses for human beings called 'the Dursleys'?

Cognizant of the fact Harry disliked talking about this topic she quickly changed directions. "You're sure that contract is ironclad?"

Harry chuckled, looked at her frowning face and replied, "Of course, sweetie; you drew it up, remember?"

"Stop flattering me," Hermione complained, even though internally she revelled at the praise. "Talking about what we did during the holidays; while I was inventing gruelling penalty clauses, what did you achieve at the castle? You never told me?"

Harry's face lit up at the question, which obviously had him very excited. "It's absolutely awesome, really," he reported eagerly. "You know how most wards are set up with main ward-stones powering them and circular border-stones."

Hermione nodded; of course she knew this, she had taught him this.

"Well, Potter Castle does it differently: While there is a central ward-stone it is way smaller than you would expect, because it draws its power from the magical hotspot directly beneath. Basically, it is just the conduit shaping the energy of the wards into the sort of magic it is configured to do."

So far, Hermione was able to follow easily. It really was an elegant concept; if you had an unimaginably strong and endless power-supply available, why waste time and resources building an accumulator?

"But the best thing is where the border-stones are," Harry continued. "They are built _into _the outer wall, not as a circle but along the line of the defences."

Hermione began to understand his enthusiasm; this setup showed something that was often sorely missing in the magical word, namely common sense and problem-solving skills.

Tired of listening, she decided to 'butt in' on Harry's monologue. "So the wards have to cover much less area than they would have if it were a dome-shaped ward."

"Correct, as always," Harry grinned back. "Basically, the only thing that place doesn't have is a Fidelius; we know that is not always the best one, anyway," her boyfriend commented drily. "Actually, the central crystal is nowhere near to full load, even if the wards were to come under attack; we could tie some really cool things into that one; magical AC for the entire castle, including the bailey, lighting deep into the night, rain protection, you name it," he finished up animatedly.

Hermione determined she liked this, if not cheery then definitely motivated and seemingly inventive version of Harry much better than his brooding, somewhat glum self; therefore, this was to be encouraged. "Great ideas," she commented. "Just imagine being able to control the English rain a little," Hermione chuckled, a move that was mirrored by Harry. "But seriously, if the wards are that strong, how could they ever be breached? And how did Voldemort breach the Hogwarts wards? Certainly they're at least as strong as those on Potter Castle."

Harry was visibly thinking now, something Hermione found very attractive. It wasn't the thinking, or the intellectuality itself, but the fact that it indicated an intellectual peer; she could never be with someone who did not engage her mind, at least not on a long-term basis.

"Hmmm," Harry hummed. "I guess the Hogwarts wards are either not as strong as those of Potter Castle, which is entirely possible, considering Hogwarts is not a real fortification but a school, or it was Voldemort's sheer power combined with the Elder Wand."

Hermione mulled over this information a little and it led her to a glaring problem. "How do you think Potter Castle would fare against a magical attack? I mean, I'm sure it's unplottable and all, but if it were found…"

It was a relevant problem; after all, Voldemort had not hesitated to amass a rather large force and attack the heavily warded Hogwarts. What was to stop him from doing that again, although they had no intention of ever letting him amass anything that could be considered even close to an army?

Again Harry took a few moments to think about her question; obviously finished with his deliberations he started talking, "It' a genuine concern. With what Fopey told me, there is only two ways in which the castle could be attacked even if the wards were breached. The walls are indestructible, several meters of stone deeply infused with magic; I doubt even the Elder Wand could make a dent in those, and the castle is on a hill surrounded by a moat, so they couldn't just send giants to scale the wall. So that means either brooms or the gates."

Hermione watched as her boyfriend got a somewhat feral grin. "Believe me, you do not want to attack through the gates; even if someone got over the moat and through the first portcullis, they are trapped inside the gatehouse in front of the second one, while anyone guarding the gatehouse can rain down Merlin-knows-what on them; if they get past that, they have several more of the gatehouses in front of them and a narrow passage between two walls to get through. There's a reason Potter Castle has never been taken, be it by magical or mundane means."

"So, generally not advisable," Hermione responded in a deadpan tone that made Harry laugh. "So brooms are the only problem then?"

"Pretty much," Harry grinned. "And I'm sure there's a way to circumvent that problem as well. Any ideas?"

Rummaging around in the vast amounts of knowledge already accumulated in her barely adult mind, Hermione looked for an answer, disappointingly only coming up with a few possibilities, none of them really good.

"You can target and deactivate enchanted items like brooms with certain wards, but those do not differentiate between what enchanted item is blocked," she relayed her thoughts. "It has to be possible though; remember the anti-cheating enchantments during our OWLs?" As Harry seemed to do remember, she continued, "We would simply have to find a working and specific target for the ward to deactivate." With a decisive nod Hermione declared her determination in the matter. "I'll dig through some of the Arithmancy books and try to find something; it will have to be more specific than the simple hovering effect, otherwise it would block any sort of levitation inside the ward…"

After this, quickly and without further ado Hermione vanished inside her own thoughts.

OOOOOOOO

"Come in, Daphne," Harry greeted his friend as she entered the Room of Requirement after dinner. With an insecure smile the dark-haired young witch filed through the doors and sat herself down on the comfy armchair opposite Harry and Hermione.

Harry, sensing the girl's discomfort, decided to put her at ease as much as he could. "Daphne, we're not mad or anything, at least not at you," he reassured. "Your father, maybe a little; he's trying to force his daughter to spy on us, after all."

This got him a somewhat wary smile from the girl in the armchair and Hermione took over. "The reason we wanted to talk to you is the following: We want you to relay some things to your father from us, information we don't mind sharing and that will even be helpful to your father, if he ever decides to act on it."

Harry hoped Daphne would take the offer, but he knew how much it sounded like they wanted to make their friend into a double-agent. Hermione's intelligence was widely known for a reason though, as she continued to address exactly that point. "It's important you know we don't want to make you into our own spy, or some kind of double-agent. This will be genuine intel to hopefully keep your father from putting into effect any of his threats. You just won't be looking for more stuff."

The thoughts racing through Daphne's mind were practically visible on her face; there was sorrow, indecision, anger and finally, it switched to resolve. The now determined looking girl nodded her head, the Slytherin self-preservation instincts, paired with the tempting offer of not having to betray her friends to satisfy these instincts, was another offer that could not be refused.

"Well, in that case," Harry took over again, "I have this for you." He handed Daphne a drawing with a number of scribbled formulae and runic sequences. "This is an invention I discarded because it did not hold that much promise for me and was starting to get boring, to be honest; Greengrass Elixir's might be interested, though."

"Harry, are those the plans for the self-heating cup you wanted to make?" Hermione inquired, obviously completely astonished about Harry willing to be parted from this particular invention of his.

"Correct," Harry confirmed. "It got boring, and didn't really seem that promising. If they get someone to add a temperature regulation sequence and maybe even a timer to it, it will make for a great potions tool; just imagine being able to simply adjust the temperature and time for brewing."

Daphne was now staring on the unfinished schematics like a drowning person would at a life-boat. "Harry, are you sure?" She asked timidly. "You're right, that sounds like a big thing and my father will probably make a lot of money from this."

The boy the question was directed at looked at Daphne sincerely, catching her eyes. Harry was sure that next to him Hermione was doing exactly the same. His voice as filled with sincerity as his gaze he answered, "If it will get your father off your back, then yes. You can even tell him you heard us talking about the Gringotts break-in at the beginning of the year, the forbidden corridor and Nicolas Flamel." At her questioning gaze, Harry explained, "Sorry, can't tell you more; everything else would put you in danger. You'll know as soon as it's safe, though."

The young witch opposite Harry now looked decidedly relieved; the whole thing had gone better than Harry had ever imagined it would, although in retrospect it was a good offer, probably the best Daphne could have hoped for in the situation; a situation that, quite frankly, really sucked.

"Harry, don't forget the mirror," Hermione reminded. "And the emergency exit."

Hermione's exclamation and the wording made Daphne visibly nervous again, although she also looked interested now. Harry, unwilling to let her wait for longer than what was necessary, explained, "Yes, it's like this; when my father was at school, he and his friends, or rather his friend Sirius, used to get into detention a lot. They made communication mirrors to stay in contact during different detentions, as I've recently found out; we asked Sirius to make one for you as well, so if you ever need help you can contact me by saying my name while you are holding that mirror."

With his explanation done, Harry called Fips and made the introductions. "Fips, this is Daphne Greengrass; Daphne, this is Fips, one of the free elves of Potter Castle who was graciously offered his help in this matter." Turning towards the excitable little creature, Harry asked, "Did Sirius give you the mirror?"

With excessive nodding confirming his expectations, Harry turned back towards Daphne, "This is your emergency exit: If you ever get to the stage where you are in danger of being forced to do anything you don't want to, like agreeing to a betrothal contract, or even signing one, you get the hell…"

The rest of Harry's explanation was lost due to his loss of breath, caused by a dark-haired witch clasping around his chest; only after she had moved on to Hermione could he relax again.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hi all,

This chapter was not easy to write, because I wanted to put some icebergs in our heroic couple's shipping channel; after everything Rowling did to them and everything I already got out of the way, it was not easy to think of something new that isn't already overused in fanfic.

Something that always irked me was that, in many a redo story, there are only positive reactions to the changes instituted by whoever it was that travelled back, this was something I tried to address here.

Let me know what you think (just like you have been doing, thanks y'all) and enjoy your day,

alexandertheII


	24. Chapter 24: The Lady of the Slitherers

**Chapter 24: The Lady of the Slitherers**

_**Chaos at Hogwarts: Are our children safe?**_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_After the recent incident of possession at Hogwarts (the Prophet reported) this reporter saw it as her civic duty to investigate the goings-on at Hogwarts a little more closely to ensure the safety of a good part of our society's children._

_Said incident, just as a reminder, included the supposedly well-liked and more importantly, inside the school, well-known former professor of Muggle Studies, Quintinius Quaffle. This, now deceased, teacher, after returning from a longer research trip, was promptly hired by the headmaster to teach his embarrassing once-a-year vacancy for the post of Defence against the Dark Arts. Not only does the fact that the esteemed headmaster hired a man possessed by the very dark wizard he has been claiming to still be alive for years cast some doubt on this expert in magical knowledge, even the existence of the vacancy does; if the post of Defence against the Dark Arts professor is indeed cursed, why has Albus Dumbledore not utilised his supposedly vast amount of knowledge to break that curse? Why has he not asked for help in achieving that very feat?_

_The only reason this reporter can come up with is that he himself has been unable to break the curse resting on the position, while his wounded pride precluded him from seeking assistance elsewhere, because the idea that either Gringotts' Curse Breaker Division or the Department of Mysteries would refuse to help in dealing with a danger to our children's education, even if the price the Goblins would demand might be high, seems outright ludicrous. The causes of concern do not end there, though._

"_Well, during the welcome feast he said something about the third floor corridor; said we were to avoid it if we did not want to die a very painful death. I know of at least three students who went there before the first week was over."_

_This is an original transcript of the quote given to me personally by a young student who, understandably, wants to remain unnamed. From another anonymous source I learned what exactly this threat of a 'most painful death' was; the forbidden third floor corridor, sealed with nothing more than a flimsy door easily overcome by a simple unlocking charm , was guarded by nothing less than a Cerberus, a variant of a giant, three-headed dog normally native to Greece and Italy._

_In an exclusive interview with someone who penetrated past the watchdog this reporter was able to ascertain more about this most dangerous situation. _

"_It's incredibly easy, you just have to have a simple enchanted musical instrument and the dog falls asleep. My father could easily get that for me when I asked," my anonymous source reported. "Then there was this trapdoor with a Devil's Snare at the bottom of it; just a simple flame charm really."_

_According to the source, this was followed by a chamber filled with flying keys, one of which would fit the locked door at the backside, which, as a piece of magic is certainly impressive, but certainly not enough as safeguard for whatever the headmaster thought was important enough to endanger the students over._

_Only the room that followed, a giant, animated chess set was finally able to deter the young student I led the interview with from his course. Therefore we do not know what followed but even from what we know it is clear: Things are going on at Hogwarts that put our children in danger. And of course we all remember the shock we got when our saviour, the Boy-Who-Lived was in St. Mungo's for an extended period of time (the Prophet reported); while no further information about his stay there is known, the fact he stayed first in the Potion Ward, only to move on to Neural Damage, speaks for itself._

_Combined with the revelations earlier this year regarding the incarceration back-then Sirius Black, now Lord Sirius Black, the Marquess Black this casts a less than favourable light upon the Chief Warlock and Headmaster under whose supposed watch these things happened. We, the population of Magical Britain, call upon the Ministry of Magic to investigate these troubling developments around Albus Dumbledore (age 110), and demand to be informed of any further developments. Needless to say, this reporter will stay on the case._

_In the end the only question left to ask is this: Could Albus Dumbledore survive another scandal?_

_To read more about Albus Dumbledore, see page 10_

_More information on the beast known as a Cerberus can be found in our sister magazine, Beastmaster's Monthly_

Harry was sitting at the breakfast table just a few short weeks before the end of term and his much awaited freedom; Hermione had already gotten permission from her parents to spend a good deal of the summer break at Potter Castle and Longbottom Manor, although she would have to stay with her parents for about two weeks at the beginning of the two months because they had booked a vacation. "Oh joy, two weeks alone with my parents," her comment had been.

However, this time had been planned out for Harry; he and Sirius had used the communication mirror to plot their upcoming actions in their war on backwardness and dark wizards. The first salvo had been Rita's article, a marvellous piece of work, for lack of a better word; it would have Dumbledore putting out fires all day while Harry would get all the tie in the world to 'borrow' the Sword of Gryffindor, clear it from any tracking charms and use it to proactively eradicate the danger of the basilisk inside the Chamber of Secrets.

The article had another positive side-effect; mentioning the possibility of only one more scandal being able to severely damage, maybe even abolish Dumbledore's political capital would surely be enough motivation for Lucius to pull through with his diary idea again.

The last, but almost equally important effect of the article was the white-faced headmaster sitting at the staff-table. It was a most hilarious sight to behold, Harry thought and while he could not allow himself to openly laugh and instead adopted the same concerned, thoughtful mien Hermione was currently displaying, inside he was rolling on the floor with laughter.

Still, he could not help but be amused by the irony of it all; during the last timeline he had been bad-mouthed by Rita a lot, often even together with the headmaster. That this time it was him initiating the bad-mouthing was indeed comical. Not that he liked Rita Skeeter all of a sudden; she was still a sorry excuse for a journalist, but suddenly, she also had her uses.

It was barely an hour later that Harry, outfitted with the gleaming silver sword, a vial of phoenix tears and Hermione's reluctant good luck wishes that Harry made for the exit of the Room of Requirement. Just as expected, Fips had easily been able to get them the weapon out of its display case in the headmaster's office and into an unused classroom in the dungeons, where Harry and Hermione stripped off a good host of tracking charms; it would not do for Dumbledore to have any way to find out about either the Chamber or the Room of Requirement, they needed those places.

"Promise you'll be careful, yes," Hermione pleaded. "I know you took some of the tears already, but those teeth are still so large; at least the covers on your glasses won't let you look into the eyes…"

Suddenly engulfed in a warm hug Harry pondered the security measures he had taken; the new enchantments he now had on his glasses, temporary ones, mind you, would only show him the outline of the basilisk, therefore protecting him from the giant snake's deadly gaze. With a last look at the deeply distraught Hermione (Harry would comfort her, but knew fully well he would be unable to until he returned to her safely), harry left the seventh-floor corridor of Barnabas the Barmy and his not-so-much dancing trolls.

As he reached the girls' loo he sharpened his senses, mostly to avoid running into any unpleasant surprises; the thing he thought of the most at that was, of course, the Moaning Myrtle, but even some girl using the toilet could lead to some _very _awkward questions. When his careful reconnaissance did not reveal any immediately apparent dangers, at least beyond the obvious danger of a giant snake waiting at the end of this way, Harry and his broom went down the chute behind the wash-basin, which he ordered to close as he went through; it wouldn't do for anyone to stumble upon a mysteriously displaced piece of sanitary equipment and a dark hole in the ground.

The tunnel at the bottom of the slide was as eerie as Harry remembered, complete with an assortment of bones he attributed to rodents; only the shed snake skin was absent, which seemed reasonable to Harry, given that the snake in question had been resting for a few decades.

"_Open," _he hissed, as he neared the entrance to the Chamber proper, repeatedly celebrating the fact Dumbledore had been wrong in his assertion he would lose the ability of Parseltongue as soon as he was without Voldemort's soul piece. It was no skill he was particularly happy about, but eventually it was just that, a skill.

Nothing more, nothing less.

"So big guy, let's see how we get along, right?" Harry muttered as he neared the statue of Slytherin, a rather unflattering depiction in any direction you looked at it.

"_Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four," _he hissed at the statue, just like he remembered the shade of Tom Riddle doing it. The effect was impressive in the light of the fire coming from the various braziers that had ignited when Harry went past them; under rumbling, the mouth of the giant Slytherin-depiction opened revealing a giant, black… nothing.

Faintly, the sound of something heavy slithering along a stone floor was audible, way before anything else, which made the situation even creepier, as far as Harry was concerned.

"_Who ssspeaksss to meee?" _A rough voice came from within the darkness that was Slytherin's mouth. _"Who daresss disturb my rressst?"_

Wary, sword out and 'outline-enchantment' on his glasses active, Harry replied, _"The name is Harry Potter."_

"_Speak, Harry Potter," _the snake answered, still from within the void, _"what isss your purpossse?"_

It was a tricky question, admittedly; telling the snake his real reason for being down in the chamber would not go over well, but he refused to outright lie. _"I am here, to protect the school and the pupils."_

From out of the statue's mouth he thought he heard something like the laughter of a giant snake, a very disconcerting sound indeed.

"_If your purpossse isss to kill me, jussst sssay ssso," _the snake ordered harshly. _"Propriety needs to be respected, though: The name is Atroposss, Lady of the Slitherersss."_

Harry was now getting increasingly weirded out by this whole situation; based on his last encounter with the basilisk he had expected less talking and more gnashing, biting and all-out fighting going on. He certainly hadn't expected a nice, if somewhat awkward chat with the 'Lady of the Slitherers', as Atropos called herself.

"_Hello, Lady Atropos," _he greeted a little unsurely. _"…nice to meet you?" _

The snake 'chuckled' again inside her hiding spot; the sound seemed to be getting closer though, making Harry be on edge even further.

"_And I'm here to protect the school and its pupils; if that means killing you, I will do exactly that," _Harry answered, already having learned Atropos would look straight through any attempt to lie to her.

"_Well met, Harry Potterrr," _came the hissy, now almost… morose voice. _"It is no matter what your purpose was in coming here with that sword, because I will dictate your purpose now._"

This conversation was turning into a dangerous direction, and it worried Harry how self-assured the old snake had sounded at that last pronouncement.

"_Whatever it wasss before, now it isss to kill me," _the snake decreed pretty much the last thing Harry had expected; maim and kill _others_: maybe; dangerous for Harry; definitely, but basically suicide? This he had not expected.

"_Atropos, not to be disrespectful or anything," _he started, scarcely believing himself, _"but why do you want to die?"_

"_It showsss a caring sssoul to ask this of your foe, Harry Potter." _For lack of an answer from Harry, she continued, _"Yesss, I know you consssider me your foe, otherwissse, why would you have brought Godric'sss sssword?"_

"_Ah, well…" _Harry started, although he was very happy to be quickly interrupted because ha really had no idea how his sentence would have ended.

"_It'sss no matter, I would never trust the Slithersss' ruler either. To answer your quessstion, I am sssimply tired," _she replied, her voice now carrying with it the many years of her life. "_I am ssso old, and I am lonely and I feel a darkness coming that would force me to do things I don't want to yet again."_

The silence following Atropos' last statement vibrated with dark omens more immensely than Trelawney's pumped up babbling ever could; it was an eerie silence full of evil foreboding.

"_The darknesssss that hasss enssslaved me once before, used me to kill one of thossse I was made to protect isss returning, growing ever clossser," _the Queen of Snakes said fiercely. _"It isss returrrning, and it will ussse me again. I know it isss coming and I will have to obey."_

This was really a direction he had not expected for the talk to turn. _"If you want, I can help you stay safe," _he offered, not believing himself; obviously, his saving-people-thing, as Hermione had put it so eloquently, also extended to giant poisonous snakes able to kill you with a single eye-to-eye. _"We could still save you!"_

"_Thhhe only way for you to sssave me," _Atropos replied in what could probably considered the snake-equivalent of a patronising, if slightly annoyed voice, _"isss to take that sssword and drive it right through my heart; I know that if I still live, Sssalazzzar'sss heir will find a way to control me, and I don't want to be a danger to hisss life-work anymore."_

This was getting into weirder and weirder territory, as far as Harry was concerned; wouldn't Salazar Slytherin, from everything he knew about the man, be rather proud about what his descendant had 'achieved'? As he voiced that question he heard the reptilian equivalent of… a sigh?

"_Sssalazzar would be ashamed of what hasss become of hisss name, if people exxxpect him to be proud of sssomething like that Riddle character," _Atropos replied. _"Don't misssunderssstand me; he hated mundanesss, and deeply missstrusssted their magical offssspring, you would assswell, had you lived his life. I may be a guardian offff thiss placcce he helped build, but he cccertainly thought in that duty, I would be killing newbloodsss. He fully expected there to be an uprisssing, an attack at some point, more people getting hurt. That is my purpossse and my duty; sssadly, he nevvver exxxpected one of his dessscendantsss to turn out like thisss."_

The sscratching sound of the giant snake's body nearing the opening that was the statue's mouth was growing ever louder; for a second Harry pondered if this was all some elaborate ruse to lure him into safety, but he considered himself fairly good at reading people and their intentions (with the obvious exception of the Weasleys and Dumbledore) and Atropos seemed quite genuine.

"_Now, Harry Potter," _the basilisk hissed, _"I suggessst you clossse your eyesss; we woldn't want you to die suddenly, would we?" _Seemingly noticing Harry's intense reluctance, even with his eyes now closed (safety first, even with the enchanted glasses), she continued, _"Thisss hasss to be done, it isss the only way I can protecttt myself and thisss ssschool. Now, open your eyesss again and I will ssshow you where to thrussst."_

OOOOOOOO

AN: Dam dam dam.

Now who saw that coming? Sorry for the bad cliff-hanger, couldn't help myself.

Enjoy, leave a review and look forward to the soon-to-come next chapter. I wouldn't leave you high and dry for long after such a bombshell; it seems unreasonably cruel…

Enjoy your day,

alexandertheII


	25. Chapter 25: One Last Act of Courage

**Chapter 25: One Last Act of Courage**

"_Do it!" _Atropos hissed.

With a sigh, Harry let the sword clatter out of his hands. With an almighty 'clank', resonating within the huge Chamber of Secrets, it tumbled to the ground.

"_I can't," _he said despondently. _"How can I do this? You're a living, breathing thing… a living, breathing person."_

"_I asssk you for mercccy," _the giant snake answered, implored even. _"I'vve never asked for any sort of pittty. I assure you, freeing meee ssshould not weigh on your conscienccce."_

If Harry were able to look into the Queen of Snakes' eyes, he was sure about that, he would be able to see pleading in her eyes; immediately before being dropped dead.

"_Pleassse…" _Atropos pleaded. With another sigh, Harry picked up the sword. With his knuckles whitening around the hilt he took the sword in both hands and pointed it downward towards Atropos' heart again. _"Pleasse…"_

"_Can't I just take you away from here?" _He asked, hoping he would receive any kind of answer freeing him from making a choice like this. _"I have a castle as well, with wards strong enough to keep Voldemort out for a very long time"_

"_Nnno, believvve mee. I havvve had a verrry long time to think about thisss," _she responded. _"I know that wherever I go, if he calls I havvve to anssswer; it isss who I am. I'm bound to ssserve Sssalazar'sss heir. Let me asssk for one more thhhing: Do not let my body rrrot away; ussse what you can, and bury what remainsss on the groundsss of Hogwartsss, at my home."_

Taking in a deep breath, Harry raised the sword and readied himself for the strike, as much as he could anyway.

"_I'm sorry, Atropos, that I couldn't help you," _he apologized.

"_Donnn't be," _she hissed back just as the razor-sharp blade sank through the snake's skin like a hot knife through butter, piercing sinews, muscle and finally her heart. _"Free. Thank you, Harry Potter. Know this: There is more than one…"_

With a last shudder, the body of the giant snake lost all its tension and sank to the ground; once again, the only thing piercing the complete silence of the chamber was Gryffindor's sword clattering to the ground.

OOOOOOOO

Hermione was pacing up and down the Room of Requirement with such ferocity and speed she could have sworn she had seen the carpet getting thinner and thinner. It had been way too long since Harry had gone to face the Slytherin's monster in the chamber, although in all honesty, to Hermione it had been way too long the moment he set foot out of the door.

As she heard the door being opened, Hermione spun around and was faced by Harry. However, some of the fears alleviated by his reappearance were immediately replaced by new ones popping up as she took in his shell-shocked expression. She rushed to his side and steadied him, taking note of the fact that, as far as she could tell, he was unharmed.

"Harry, what happened?" She asked in a tone more demanding than she actually cared for. Harry just looked at her with an empty face and needily reciprocated the way she had enveloped him in without even realizing she did.

"I…" he started whispering into her hair, his voice cutting out quickly. With what seemed like a heartening sigh he continued, "I killed an innocent today."

After successfully coaxing Harry into taking a seat on the couch, then promptly planting herself on the seat that was Harry's lap, Hermione was regaled with a tale so far-fetched she would be hard-pressed to believe it if anyone but Harry were the source.

"So, let me see if I got this straight," Hermione began after taking a few moments to process what she had learned. "This particular basilisk was no 'king of the snakes' but a 'queen of the snakes'?" Receiving a nod, she continued, "And Salazar Slytherin bred her to defend the school, which he, after living through some unspecified hardship, thought would at some point be attacked or infiltrated by muggles and their magical offspring?" Another nod. "And Tom Riddle forced this basilisk named Atropos, after one of the Greek Fates no less, to do his bidding, almost driving her insane the last time?"

"Yes," Harry croaked out despondently. "She said he wouldn't be able to bear it another time; from what I remember of her during second year, I really don't doubt that."

Hermione distanced herself a little from Harry to be able to look him in the eye. With her voice consoling and, frankly, more encouraging than she really felt at the moment, she said, "Then you did the best you could; you granted her freedom and more of a merciful and honourable death than she ever could have hoped for serving Riddle," she stated firmly.

"But what if she…" Harry began, but was interrupted immediately.

"What if she was wrong?" Hermione asked, already knowing that was what Harry would say. "From what you tell me, she had some ability at prophecy; yes, I know I always say it's hoodwink and I stay by that, but if she is so insistent, maybe we should take it seriously."

Her piece having been said, Hermione closed the distance to Harry again and re-intensified their hug. For a good ten minutes nothing happened, until somewhere next to her ear, she could hear Harry whisper, "You're right; of course, you're right. What about the last bit, the 'more than one' part?"

With a huge groan, Hermione motivated her mind to leave the warm, comfortable fuzziness that had enveloped her in Harry's arms. After giving herself a few moments to think about it she answered, "Nothing; sounds like a prophecy to me, and even more vague than the one in the Department of Mysteries. I think we've seen enough examples of people making a real mess, trying to follow predictions they did not fully understand."

Under and around her body, Hermione could both feel and hear Harry sigh in relief. "Good," he stated. "I have enough prophecies and people trying to interpret them around me as is."

OOOOOOOO

"Hermione," Harry whispered to the girl lying in his arms. "Hermione, you have to wake up."

The only response he got was some incoherent mumbling and a bushy head of hair burying deeper into his chest.

"Hermione, it's time to get up; you're missing transfiguration," Harry chuckled, looking at the peaceful look on his girlfriend's face.

"Not funny," she grumbled. "It's the weekend, so there're no lessons; you better have a good reason for waking me up, because I was having a really good nap."

"I was too," he laughed back, putting a small kiss on the back of her head. "But we've missed lunch and we're closing in on dinner; I thought you might want to eat something."

With a small huff, Hermione turned towards Harry, returned the kiss she had received on the back of her head onto his lips and, with some cat-like stretching, got up. Giving Harry a small, contented smile she held out her hand to help him up. Returning her grin, he grabbed her hand and pulled her back onto the sofa.

"I said 'we're closing in on dinner', not 'it's time for dinner," he remarked. "I actually thought we could spend the rest of the time to cuddle on the sofa."

"Oh Mr. Potter," Hermione remarked cheekily, "I get the feeling you are trying to take advantage of me; I'm not sure I like it…"

Paying her words as much heed as she did, he snuggled into her, as she laid her head on his shoulder. Some minutes passed, in which the young couple just enjoyed their closeness, before someone spoke again.

"What did you say about 'use what you can'?" Hermione inquired. Obviously taking note of Harry's confused expression, Hermione explained, "You said Atropos told you to not let her body rot away, right? So, what do you plan on doing?"

This prompted some intense thinking on Harry's part, as using the dead body of what he now considered a person seemed morally dodgy to him. "I don't really know, actually…" he responded, noticing a fleeting look of annoyance on Hermione's face. "Okay, let me hear it."

"For one thing, I understand your hesitance," she began in some of her usual diplomatic tactics (something Harry actually appreciated a lot), "but it is exactly what she wanted; think about it: she explicitly allowed, even demanded you use her body well, after which burying her in the place she has been made to protect. From that point of view, you really _have _to use everything you can, because anything else would be disrespecting one of her last wishes."

Harry gave a sigh; of course he _knew _all that, yet he still had some reservations, something Hermione seemed to have picked up on as well. "Think of it along the lines of organ donation: She agreed during her lifetime, she certainly knew what it would entail and she demanded it anyway. Sure, it is not easy to process, or particularly palatable, but at this point, the only way to honour her memory is to do what she asked for."

With another big sigh, Harry acquiesced to his girlfriend's reasoning. "So how do we go about this; any ideas?"

It was heartening watching Hermione think, because despite all the things radically changing for the young couple and everything they still had in front of them, this was something that would probably be a staple: Hermione and her 'thinking face'.

"First thing would be to try and preserve that carcass," she determined. "I think cooling it down would be a good idea; later, we can find out what to do to harvest as much usable stuff as possible, just like she wanted."

That moment, even though he was still wrestling with his conscience, Harry had an idea. "How about asking Fopey for help?" he proposed, eliciting a smile from Hermione.

"Sounds like a good idea," she judged. "She would know how to keep things cold, working in the kitchens and all."

As the idea was unanimously accepted (not that that was a big hurdle, with only two people involved in the decision-making process), Harry put the plan into action.

"Fopey," he called, immediately followed by the crack of an elf appearing.

"Master Harry be calling?" the overeager little creature greeted, making Harry groan; he had not thought of the fact that he would be called 'Master Harry' over and over again when calling in elven help, let alone when he returned to Potter Castle for the summer.

"Yes Fopey, I did. And hello to you," he returned the greeting. Deciding to make one more attempt at dissuading the annoying 'master' business, he continued, "and I told you, you could just call me Harry."

The little elf looked outraged for a second, before she started talking again, "Oh no, that not be proper, Master Harry. How does Fopey be able to help?"

Seemingly realising the annoyance always overcoming Harry when he was confronted with the elven deference, Hermione took over. "Hello Fopey. Would you be able to tell us how to preserve a giant snake?"

Despite her obvious bewilderment, Fopey's answer came promptly and self-assuredly. "Fopey be able to preserve anything," she stated proudly.

OOOOOOOO

That evening at dinner, Hermione was still a little shaken. While it was true that she had seen the skeleton of the basilisk in the old timeline, she had never seen it in real life-size and, although the skull had been impressive enough, the sheer magnitude of Atropos' fresh corpse had been staggering

It had been a somewhat hard trip down the chute to the basilisk's lair, considering she had once nearly killed Hermione; alas, the more vindictive part inside Hermione was content in the knowledge that never again would she be in the situation of being misused for nefarious purposes. From that standpoint, the snake was as much a victim as anyone else: Forced to do things she hated to, in the end bringing the ultimate sacrifice to stop it from happening again.

"Hermione, are you still with us?" she was woken from her thoughtful trance by Neville. "You were spacing out there a little."

"Yeah, I'm alright," she responded, and she actually was; mostly.

Still, building a working emulsion of the story Harry had told her and the terrifying image of these yellow, piercing eyes…

"Hermione!" Now it was Harry's voice pushing through the veil of memories; that would always work. She looked at him, he winked at her and Hermione smiled back weakly.

"So, is everyone prepared for their exams," Hermione inquired, trying to distract from her probably weird state and eliciting groans from all around their group. The one the least happy about the upcoming end of the term, though, was Daphne. The dark-haired girl sat there morosely with a dark expression on her face; she was obviously still distraught with the idea of returning home for the summer. Not that Hermione could fault her.

"I'm looking forward to it," Neville commented, visibly surprising all of them a little. "What, I'm looking forward to the holidays; and with Snape's test being overseen by Dumbledore, I'm nearly looking forward to the exams as well."

This reminder of the most recent positive development surrounding teaching and staff at Hogwarts conjured up some smiles on people's faces; as far as the Hogwarts rumour mill said, Snape had lost his cool during a teachers' conference so badly, not even Dumbledore had been able to ignore it. The rumour mill further said that, as for the reason for Snape blowing his top, the fact Harry, Hermione and their friends were receiving teaching in potions that was not administered by him was near the top of the list of contenders.

"What are you guys starting with, anyway?" Tracey asked the group. "We're starting with charms on Monday."

"Transfiguration, as you very well know," Hermione commented, frowning at the other girl in jest; the change in topic was obviously for Daphne's sake, and it seemed to be working. "What do you think about Defence?"

As soon as she asked the question, Hermione could hear Harry grumbling next to her.

"I don't like it," he commented. "I mean, it's one less exam, and that's great, but I'm good at Defence. Couldn't it have been history?"

This received widespread agreement among the members of their little group. No one who had ever been in a History of Magic Lesson with Professor Binns could be excited about the subject.

"It's a shame though," Hermione thought out loud. "Seriously, if we don't remember our younger history, how are we supposed to learn from our mistakes? Take Grindelwald as an example: He had around the same sort of followers Voldemort had… or maybe had, still nothing has been changed about our society."

With a group of shocked faces commenting her, for who was supposed to be a twelve-year old, very sophisticated statement, Hermione was reminded of plausible deniability. "I thought there had to be more to magical history than Goblin rebellions, so I read a few books," she explained her unusual knowledge away.

The only further comment her outburst of carelessness had, was Harry whispering in her ear, "How on earth do you still find time to work on private side-projects with all the stuff we have to do?"

OOOOOOOO

It turned out that, just as expected, the exams were incredibly easy on both Harry and Hermione and there were two distinct reasons for that: Harry was more prepared for them than ever before (he had spent more time preparing than he had the first time around) and Hermione was more calm than she had ever been before when it came to tests.

The 'absence' of an instructor and examiner in defence had all of them skipping that exam, again just as expected. Snape was in an expectably vindictive mood during his opportunity to yet again torture the first years who had managed to get out of his grasp, but he was unable to get any real shots in due to the presence of Albus Dumbledore.

Binns' exam was just like his class, boring, uninspired and narcotic, while McGonagall was as methodical and thought-out as one would expect from her. All-in-all, it was quite the ordinary examination for Hogwarts, as far as Harry could tell, although he just could not shake the feeling something just had to go wrong at some point.

However, despite his misgivings, the day for everyone to return home was there eventually and they were sharing a train compartment again. Harry and Hermione had already supplied Daphne with an 'intel-package' of ideas that should be able to last her through the break; nonetheless, it also included a communication mirror they had procured from Sirius for Daphne to call for help, should the need arise, or she simply wish to talk to her friends.

The general merriment of the ride was only partly impacted by the sad prospect of not all of them being together before the start of the next rem; loose plans had been made for everyone to meet near the end of the break, but naturally, despite her role of a pretend-spy, Daphne would not be allowed to come to Potter Castle. Everyone else was looking forward to it, though.

"So, what are you doing during the break?" Tracey inquired of them, looking extremely pleased with her own prospects already. "I'm going all over Europe with my parents; Switzerland, Germany, France, Italy, Austria. It's going to be so awesome!"

Harry had to chuckle a little at her enthusiasm; the first real comment on her plans came from Neville, however, "Why would you go to these countries in particular?"

Tracey smiled a little, laughed and then responded, "Because, they have the best chocolate in the world, and dad says we 'should mix business with pleasure'; so, we're going to try the tastiest chocolate you're ever going to find; mum says, if we're going to France, Italy, Austria and Switzerland, we might as well visit Germany as well."

The whole cabin went silent for a while, trying to take in the massive itinerary this probably meant and the amount of places Tracey would visit; suddenly, the fact that she would spend six weeks out of the country was not so surprising anymore.

"So, you're basically going to travel around, eat chocolate and look at stuff?" It was Hermione who asked the question Harry had been considering as well. "My parents would be appalled…"

"Why would they?" Susan asked in return.

"They're dentists," Hermione explained, and before anyone could ask what that was, their faces were telling they wanted to, she continued, "They're a kind of muggle healer dealing with teeth; sweets like chocolate are bad for your teeth."

Daphne, who up until now had been sitting in the corner, silently, shook her head, bewilderedly. "There're special healers only for teeth? Sure, for spell damage, or potion incidents, but for teeth? Muggles are weird…"

This finally made Hermione crack; she had been visibly amused at the blank looks concerning dentists already, but this topped it all off. "I'm sure muggles would say the same about spell damage and potion incidents," she chuckled. "It's actually a highly respected profession, with loads of time spent in university preparing you for it."

This time, no one was lost for words; Harry had actually explained the concept of a university to their friends shortly after the winter break, and the reactions had been mixed at best. None of their friends really understood, why staying on for even more education after finishing school was in any way desirable. When they heard that some university degrees took almost as much time as a full Hogwarts career to complete, they were really stumped.

"Speaking of parents," Susan interrupted the silence. "You're going away with yours as well, right?"

Hermione, at who the question was directed, made a grimace and answered, "Yes; we're going to France as well, southern coast." The answer was delivered in such an annoyed tone that no on inquired any further and conversation quickly moved on.

OOOOOOOO

The scene playing out on platform 9¾ was a little tense; there were a few distinct groups of people with clearly differing opinions on important issues. One thing however it seemed they could agree on: They did not like each other or rather some did not like each other, while others just did not care.

Next to the large group of parents whose only concern was to get their children home, after all, it had been a somewhat chaotic year at Hogwarts, there was the, mostly Slytherin, blood-purist section of the platform, under the questionable leadership of Lucius Malfoy. This particular group was passing their time by either talking quietly about things they obviously did not want the general public to know about, or so intensively looking down at others, that their exclusion was a foregone conclusion. Daphne's and Tracey's families were a part of that one as well, though the latter had the good graces to give Sirius a sheepish look.

Then there was the mirror-image of that particular group; former Order of Phoenix members and associates, the friends and allies of Dumbledore (still a disturbingly large group) and their various family members. This group also included one of the more flamboyant personalities displayed there; Molly Weasley was engaged in an intense discussion with a woman who Sirius did not recognise, although he had heard someone call her Dickery, or something along the lines of it. Whenever they stopped talking, they would turn towards Sirius' group, glare a little and then return to their conversation even more vigorously than before.

Sirius could not help but feeling they were talking about hams, and he doubted he was getting any praise. With him on the platform were some of the more politically-active 'light-side-if-you-want-to-think-in-such-dichotomy' families that did not support Dumbledore; sadly, their number was nearly as large as either the Malfoy or the Dumbledore camp, and currently consisted of only Augusta Longbottom, Sirius Black and Amelia Bones. Sure, there were some people with the same kind of leanings in the large, uninterested crowd, but in a political battle, these were not at all helpful, not to mention the fact they were still somewhat intimidated by Sirius, even with him being cleared of all wrongdoing.

The reason it was only Sirius there and not Remus still stung the old Marauder in the heart; after their intense disagreement over the last break, contact between him and his oldest friend had been hurtfully sparse, and Sirius could still not really figure out, why. After all, Remus had been livid about Harry's treatment when he heard of it, so why was he again thinking of Dumbledore as the great 'Leader of the Light' again? Was Dumbledore that good at rhetoric, that capable a manipulator of thoughts and feelings, or was something more potent than simple words involved.

The magnificently intelligent dog's, at least he liked to think of himself that way, even though Harry had derived a worrying amount of joy from calling him old mutt, meandering thoughts were cut off by a well-known scarlet tank-engine happily chugging its way into the station, being greeted by the happy parents.

One of the first to be out was who could only belong to Molly Weasley; this attribution was made easy by the fact that said boy stormed out of the train with surprising fervour and started what seemed like ranting mixed with an inordinate amount of whining. Knowing what his year had likely been like, a young boy completely without any kind of guile or family influence and money, being in Slytherin could not have been easy. From what his godson and ward, Sirius thought that particular thought as often as possible, just to get used to it, he was not coping well; still, it did not seem like he was trying that much anyway.

During Sirius' musings, another group of passengers had left the train, and this was the one he had been waiting for, for it included Harry and Hermione, as well as their friends. The only one missing was Daphne, but the exclusion of the girl he now saw leaving the train through another door, clearly showed; they were all much less enthusiastic than their peers.

"Hey, pup," he greeted his godson, still in hopes of encouraging the image of a wise, yet still young and vibrant pack alpha. "Hermione."

"Mutt," his plan was handed back to him in shambles by the girl he had greeted second, before he was engulfed in a hug by first Harry and then Hermione; it was still an unusual feeling, but definitely one he wanted to get used to again. After adults and children had exchanged well-wishes for the time they would be unable to see each other, as short as it might be with Neville, Harry, Hermione and maybe even Susan, only one particularly hard farewell remained.

By the time Hermione and Harry were done saying goodbye, somewhat out of Sirius' sight, they were the only ones left on the platform. Without much further ado, although obviously still very sad, Hermione stepped through the barrier and was gone.

A now rather deflated Harry Potter was taken on a trip of side-along apparition to Potter Castle.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Sorry for the long wait folks, especially after that mean cliff-hanger. I could not really get this chapter on track, and am still unsure about it; so I hope you like it. Plus, the heat-wave we had in central Europe did not help by drying out my creative juices.

Enjoy your day,

alexandertheII

he said desponkkkk


	26. Chapter 26: The Problem of Awareness

**Chapter 26: The Problem of Awareness**

It was three weeks into the break and Sirius was starting to notice something weird going on with his godson; he had noticed before during the last break, but had been unable to pinpoint what exactly he had been feeling. Now, he was sure: Harry was acting older in a weird way.

It was not like Sirius had never seen children acting older than their age before, it was actually rather common during his days at Hogwarts, what with the war looming and all, but Harry was taking it a step further. Now that he was thinking about it, the same was true about his girlfriend. Hermione was acting oddly a lot of the time as well, although he was less sure about her, just because he had spent less time with her.

There were of course several reasons why that could be; that Harry could be anyone else than Harry seemed far-fetched, even to Sirius, but the idea that something happened in his life that had forced him to grow up prematurely was indeed worrying. On the other hand, if he was just riding along Hermione on the maturity-train, that might not be that worrying, even though Sirius would have to be watching if Harry was changing into anything he was not or was simply not ready for.

In the end, it all came to one necessity: He needed to find out more about his godson.

OOOOOOOO

Harry was inside the dungeons of Potter Castle, working on his spellcraft. He had placed a number of targets on the far side of the largest room and was now doing a mixture of training and letting out a lot of pent-up frustration. He was missing his friends terribly and his girlfriend even more. With him being unable to tell Sirius everything, at least without Hermione there to back him up and 'okay' his decision.

Without the horcrux in his head, at least that was what Harry assumed what the reason was with what the healer had said about the dark magic residue in his scar; he had made great strides in his ability to summon enough concentration for non-verbal casting. The new challenge was to make his casting faster and less predictable.

However, there was an important part one had to keep in mind when quickly casting, especially powerful, curses and hexes: It was incredibly tiring. Harry had found out about this, together with Hermione, close to the Easter break after spending several hours making their casting faster and faster. What Harry was now working on, on both their behalves, was a charm that could produce various light effects that, to the casual or hurried observer, looked just like an actually harmful spell.

The charm itself was not that hard, but getting it to work with exactly the right colour to mimic an attack and force the opponent to shield or dodge, things that tended to cost huge amounts of energy compared to a simple light spell.

Currently, he was working on getting the colour of the stunning spell right, which meant he was sending stunner after stunner at the targets, each followed by a progressively better imitation made out of harmless light.

It was during one of the last run-throughs he had planned making that he heard someone near the wall.

"Holy hell, pup," Sirius commented, obviously completely astonished; without much further ado, Sirius pulled his wand on Harry.

"I don't know who you are, but you are not my eleven year old godson," he said with a steely voice. "I have seen you working on advanced duelling tactics for ten minutes, and you are way beyond any firstie. So who are you and where is Harry Potter?!"

With a sigh, Harry fully turned towards his godfather; he had so hoped this would not happen, although he might have been a little remiss in his closing-off of the room. Well, this would be an interesting talk.

"Sirius, I can assure you, I am indeed Harry Potter," he answered calmly. "But you are correct, that is not the whole truth. Before I can tell you anything, how is your Occlumency?"

Although he looked a little surprised by the question, Sirius answered rather quickly. "I can defend myself," he assured. "No more questions before you answer mine, now!"

Harry gave another sigh and then nodded in assent. "You were right, there's more to both me and Hermione than meets the eye, so I need her here for this; if we both take down our wands, maybe one of the elves can get her from France."

With the situation somewhat relaxed, Harry called for Fips who shortly returned with a somewhat grumpy looking Hermione, who was quick to tell Harry she had been interrupted on a museum tour.

"You're lucky I have just gotten rid of my parents; they're looking at some old stuff while I was looking at the old books they had there," she complained. Obviously, her mood was not the best it could have been.

"Hey, sweetie," Harry greeted, immediately and visibly raising her spirits somewhat. "Look who's here and saw me train with mimicking spells."

As Harry pointed at Sirius, accompanied by his words, the full extent of what was to happen now became visible on Hermione's face.

"Do what you have to; we were thinking about telling him, anyway," she commented, now looking some weird mix between weary and relieved. Harry could definitely relate to that; the idea of someone else knowing, finally, what they had been through was an almost cathartic notion.

"Before I can tell you anything, I want you to ask me a question, something you think you would like to tell me but haven't until now," Harry asked of Sirius who, though still dubious, complied.

"When I give you the 'witches and wizards' talk, how do I plan to do it?" He inquired, looking at both Hermione and Harry, with the former now somewhat chuckling and the latter feeling his face grow red.

"Really, that one?" Harry moaned. "Never mind; you start the talk with dogs, because, as you say, you know a little about them. Then you talk about 'the-boy-who-loved' but stayed safe, and then to round it off, you reminded me that it is a natural part of life, meaning my parents had to do it at least once for me to exist, with the same being true for the Dursleys and Dudley."

Sirius looked back a few seconds questioningly, before breaking out into a small grin. "I hadn't actually thought about that last part yet, but it definitely sounds like something I would do. Now out with it, what's going on here?"

With the third sigh of what he now thought would be many more to come, Harry started with some introductions. "My name is indeed Harry James Potter, and I was born in 1981, but it is equally true that I am now eighteen years old."

OOOOOOOO

A completely knackered Sirius fell into bed that evening after an emotionally jarring few hours of being talked through a past/future that had not happened yet; what first Harry and Hermione, and then after around half an hour only his godson had told him was simply mind-blowing, although he had to concede to the fact that it was an at least somewhat plausible story.

"If you get over the whole 'time-travel' business, that is," he muttered, already sensing that despite his tiredness, sleep would still elude him for some time; there was just too much going on inside his head for him to be able to really rest right now.

Sirius was completely sure he had not been told everything, and if he had not been before he was the moment Harry had said that exactly. Something about 'not changing the perception he has of people' so he could make as unprejudiced a judgement of people as possible; although, should he ask, he would be told. As Harry put it, he was no Dumbledore.

Before Sirius could spend more time thinking about how weird his evening had been, or even ponder whether he believed it all, he was interrupted by a crack.

"Mister Doggy be drinking this," Fopey announced, surprisingly authoritative for a house elf. "He be needing his sleep."

OOOOOOOO

The morning after his and Hermione's talk, Harry was in the lower courtyard of Potter Castle, enjoying the freedom of being able to train out in the open; by now, he had the colour and shape of s strong stunner pretty much nailed, therefore he moved on to something less restrained: Cutting curses.

Although Hermione had initially been against using things like the 'Sectumsempra' curse, reminding him of the horrendous effects it had on people, including their old and new friend George, but had quickly been swayed by the fact that their enemies would not be stunning anyone either and that, in war, you had to put your enemy out of commission: However, they had agreed to never use the Unforgivable Curses (in Harry's case again).

So now, Harry was letting loose with cutting curses aimed at a group of unfortunate dummies strategically placed in the duelling arena in the lower courtyard. The moment the last 'enemy' was felled from a definitely debilitating, but, if treated, most likely not lethal 'Sectumsempra', he was joined by his godfather.

"Morning," the man greeted, a little distantly. "I see you're… practicing."

The pained look on Sirius' face was impossible to miss, though the reason for its presence was not immediately clear.

"I am," Harry answered non-committently. "Also, letting go of some steam."

His godfather looked at Harry a little weirdly before responding to that. "I actually used to do something along the same lines; whenever I was fed up with my family, I used to go into the basement and blow up conjured objects. Of course, that was only possible because of our wards; after I got sorted into Gryffindor, there was no chance I could ever get them to buy me an unmarked wand."

He said this with a peculiar chuckle, somewhere between wistful and disdainful. "So, you're really from the future, huh?" His expression was rapidly changing to one promising chaos. "Any chance you'll let me know some stuff beyond what you told me yesterday? Sports scores, lottery numbers, stuff like that…"

Now Harry had to laugh as well. "Honestly, do you think giving that kind of knowledge to a marauder is not a good idea and you know it; you're prone to… short temper. Also, you tend to underestimate your opponents."

Sirius winced a little, "Yeah, don't remind me of that. You've actually seen that destroy my life twice, right; once even permanently."

"So you might understand my reluctance to share some things with you," Harry commented dryly.

Without either of them realizing it, Sirius suddenly had his arms around his godson and the other way around. "I promise to never leave you hanging like that, ever again, you hear me, Pup?" he said, sounding suspiciously choked up; Harry could only nod. After some time, Harry did not really know how long, Sirius let go and instead looked him in the eye. "I might be ready to fully accept you as my time-traveller godson. Now show me, what else ya got?"

This prompted some good-natured ribbing, followed by a demonstration from Harry using both his unmarked wands obliterating another conjured army of dummies.

OOOOOOOO

Harry was inside what Sirius had taken to jokingly call his 'man cave'; he was tinkering with a fountain pen enchanted to not only replace its own ink but also adopt any ink into that enchantment you dipped it into; it really was not much more than tinkering, because the product was pretty much finished.

However, playing around with that pen helped him grapple a larger concept he had been thinking about. During the later years of his first Hogwarts career, computers had become increasingly wide-spread among the non-magical population of the world, and grand theories had been going around about self-aware robots for quite some time even before that; now, Harry was asking himself how much of that could be achieved by magic, or maybe even surpassed.

Obviously there were more than only practical problems with self-aware constructs, and that was what had Harry pondering the implications; he already had an idea about how at least some sort of limited consciousness, or maybe learning ability could be achieved magically and, ironically, one of the oldest yet most sophisticated pieces of magic he knew had let him come up with it: The Room of Requirements.

The Room obviously learned from the things it experienced and saw inside the minds of those in need of its service, so there had to be some ability to adapt and learn inside the enchantments of that room. Harry could think of something similar for a magically powered, moving construct; a robot, one could probably consider it. Still, the question of morality remained. If the construct he had in mind worked, there would not be a big problem, as far as he was concerned; in essence it was still a computer, just with the ability to adapt and learn from new situations, but it was the first step into creating an artificial consciousness, as muggles called it. Now that would throw up tons of ethical questions.

It was these ruminations that Sirius stumbled into as he entered Harry's shed. By that time Harry had started doodling around on a piece of scrap paper, writing down different points concerning his thoughts.

"Hey pup, what are you doing?" Sirius questioned from over Harry's shoulder. "Looks like heavily philosophical thinking…"

Harry snorted a little and looked at Sirius dubiously; somehow he could not imagine Sirius doing any serious philosophical thinking. "I'm grappling with the concept of individual freedom for artificial beings and how my creating of a kind of precursor for an artificial consciousness can be considered ethically questionable."

As his godfather adopted a somewhat unbelievable, pondering expression, Harry snorted again and returned to his chaos of ideas and problems noted on the scrap of paper.

"I don't know about you, pup, but I don't think what people do with your inventions is not completely you fault, right?" Sirius commented. "I mean, it's not like you're selling weapons to dictators and lunatics or giving the people on St. Mungo's permanent spell damage ward wands, or forcing anyone to develop such a… what did you call it?"

"Artificial consciousness; basically a magical being, with as much as a sense of self as you or me, just created by somebody for a specific duty," Harry explained, already thinking about Sirius' points. "Maybe there's a way to protect the enchantments from being plagiarized and developed further."

Now, Sirius was visibly pondering something as well. "You said 'created for a specific duty, right?" Receiving a nod from Harry, he elaborated, "Do you think something like this could replace house elves?"

"Absolutely; well, at least most of them," Harry replied. This was actually one of the biggest pros he had come up with.

Sirius answer came almost as promptly. "Then there's no question, really; do what you can to keep the knowledge from being misused and then roll these things out as quickly as possible. If you have that big an immediate advantage, there really is not much more you can decide."

With that, Sirius turned around obviously sensing Harry needed his space right now.

OOOOOOOO

Hermione was growing increasingly tired of their holiday destination; with every museum having been toured by her before, even if it had been more than seven years ago on her own time stream, there was not much left to do. Her books were lying around, discarded after almost all of them had already been read at least twice.

Therefore, it was just as well that she would be returning to Britain with her parents the day after the next and travelling to Potter Castle the day after; she really missed both the place and the people inside it, including the quirky elves. Of course, the one she missed most was Harry, but Sirius was pretty high up there as well.

She knew Harry, at that particular moment, was probably working at either some new gadget or at getting their company established; with Sirius in the know, that would be so much easier.

"Hermione," she heard her mother Phyllis' voice from the dining room of their vacation home. "Come down, it's time for dinner."

"I'm coming, mother," she called back, before getting up from her bed and walking toward the door.

As she settled down at the dinner table, the awkward mood at the dinner table was even more pronounced than it usually was during such occasions; her father and mother were sitting at opposite sides of the table, silently awaiting her joining them.

"Enjoy your meal," her father practically ordered, right before tucking in himself.

After a few silent minutes of eating, her mother turned towards her. "We have to tell you something; we will have to cut short our vacation and return home early tomorrow morning by plane to Heathrow. An important client has called."

"I understand, mother," Hermione replied. "Was there anything else?"

"Yes; do you think it would be possible for those friends of yours to accept your visit earlier?" Her father inquired, sparking a lot of happy thoughts inside Hermione's mind. She would get to Potter Castle more than a day earlier than planned.

"I will contact Harry later and ask," Hermione assured. "May I be excused?"

Her father nodded and motioned for her to leave the room, which Hermione promptly did; her sedate pace vanished the moment she got to the stairs and she joyfully leaped up the stairs. Once in her room, again lying on her bed, she pulled out her communication mirror and said, "Harry Potter."

After a few moments, Harry's still way too young face appeared on her mirror. "Hey sweetie, great to see you; what's up?"

"Hey," she returned the greeting. "I have good news," she said cheekily, wanting to draw out the moment a little.

Harry chuckled as he looked at her probably wildly enthusiastic face. "Okay, let me hear it."

"If you and Sirius can pick me up at Heathrow, I will be at Potter Castle somewhere around noon tomorrow," she informed him, making her boyfriend grin like mad. "Some important client called my parents and now we're coming home early tomorrow morning, and by plane even."

"That's awesome, Hermione," Hermione replied happily. "I've done some great stuff the last two weeks; also Black Enterprises is now a thing."

After that, they talked for a long time until they both had to get ready for bed.

OOOOOOOO

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking," the still very grating voice of the pilot blared through the speakers above the plane's seats. "We are shortly beginning our descent toward London Heathrow Airport; please extinguish your cigarettes, return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts."

As she was still no fan of heights, the trip on the back of a dragon had not made that fear any better either, that was something Hermione could live with, seeing as she was already buckled in and had only left her seat for a quick run to the loo.

"Hermione, will those friends of yours be picking you up at the gate?" Her mother inquired.

Drawn from the sight outside the window (it was ironic, how this view was not even that frightening), Hermione tuned to her mother to answer. "Yes, mother; I asked them to pick me up as soon as we land."

Phyllis Granger nodded sharply and returned to her reading; Hermione did the same with the view outside the window.

OOOOOOOO

"Relax, Harry," Sirius chuckled, as Harry walked up and down near the gate where Hermione was scheduled to arrive. "They're just a few minutes delayed."

Harry looked at his godfather exasperatedly, not keen to talk or think about his anxiousness. "How do you know that much about airports anyway?" he tried to divert Sirius from pursuing this avenue.

Said marauder laughed a little before he commented, "Don't think I don't know what you're doing; as for your question: You know my family wasn't the nicest," he said this with a mirthless chuckle, "so, after running away from them, I thought about what would piss them off most." Now wearing a wide grin, Sirius finished, "Learning as much about muggles seemed like a good idea, and it really helped in the fight against Voldemort, too."

This actually made Harry laugh a little; he could just imagine a young Sirius, just like the one he had seen on the pictures in Grimmauld Place, pouring over information on muggles, just because he knew it would piss off the people he no longer considered family. The whole idea really fit his character.

"Now, explain to me again, why we have to go to that awful place?" Sirius demanded with a somewhat mad gleam in his eyes. "I really hate it there…"

Harry gave him an annoyed stare, as he knew full well Sirius was aware of the reason. "I really don't have to answer that question again, right? If you don't quite believe me, you will by this afternoon."

"I'll take your word on that," Sirius replied drily; however much the idea of his brother being on the right side in the end appealed to him, he had been reluctant to believe what he had been told about his family, especially the house-elf inside Grimmauld Place. There was just too much deep-seated antagonism between him and what he called the 'despicable little creature'.

"I think that's their plane rolling in," he was interrupted in his thought-process by his godfather. He was apprehensive about their trip to the old Black house, just like his godfather, although he was more apprehensive about the prospect of facing the horcrux; the things it had shown Weasley had been unpleasant, even though in hindsight Harry was not completely sure how much of it was indeed for Ron, and how much had been aimed at Harry. If Voldemort's horcrux was indeed able to play on thoughts and emotions, there was no telling how much it had learned from the redhead's mind.

"Yeah," he answered hi godfather. "Definitely their plane."

And indeed, outside, beyond the windows showing the airfield, an airplane was steadily approaching the waiting gangway, with Hermione on board.

Sirius was visibly getting ready for some mocking, but Harry did not have it in his heart to stop or interrupt him. "Come one, be honest; you're way more riled up because Hermione is coming back, than because of anything else," he jibed. "Nothing to be ashamed of; really, I'm looking forward to seeing her as well, just not as much as you."

"Very funny, you old mutt," Harry bit back. "Just because you have as much of a love life as a teaspoon doesn't mean you get to make fun of mine; it's weird enough already, being in the wrong body for our minds."

Sirius, although grudgingly, conceded Harry's point and the two kept waiting on Hermione and her parents. Their wait ended just ten minutes later, with a bushy, brown-haired girl speeding through the exit as one of the first ones through and quickly proceeding to hug first Sirius and then, much more thoroughly, Harry.

"Hermione, some restraint," admonished the measured, almost cold voice of a man leaving the gate together with a lithe, rather tall woman with hair that clearly denoted her as Hermione's mother. "There's no need to be just that exuberant."

The man, whom Harry immediately disliked even more than from Hermione's tales, turned towards Sirius. "I assume you are the Lord Black?" With a nod from said Lord Black, he continued, "Horatio Granger, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Yours as well, Dr. Granger," Sirius replied, much less exuberantly than what was the usual for him. It seemed he had taken to heart what had been aimed at Hermione. "I assume you have heard of my ward and godson, Harry Potter?"

"I have," Hermione's father agreed. "And this is Phyllis, my wife."

"Dr. Granger," both Harry and Sirius greeted her as well.

"Now, not that we want to rush anything," Hermione's mother reminded, "but we are on the clock."

"Right you are," Horatio agreed. "Now then, have fun;" he said to his daughter," we will see you over Christmas."

"Goodbye dear," Phyllis continued along the same vein. "Be nice and write to us, don't forget we will be at your uncle's place over Christmas, so get him a nice present."

"I will Mother," Hermione reciprocated the sadly emotion-less goodbye. "Goodbye Mother, goodbye Father."

Hardly a minute later, the Granger parents were gone and the Granger daughter was left behind; her happiness seemed to be seriously hampered by something, and Harry had a good idea, why.

"Sweetie," he said consolingly, "just because we came back I time does not mean we can change anything. Some things will get worse, some things will stay the same, but you'll always have me and Sirius and a horde of elves willing to be your family."

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hi everyone,

Hope you like the new chapter, it took some time. During my preparation for my newest exam (which I passed) I got an inflammation in my wrist and was a little… hampered in my writing efforts. As it is still not completely gone, let's see what happens.

For now, enjoy reading and leave a review,

alexandertheII


	27. Chapter 27: The Title Didn't Fit Again

**Chapter 27: Developments Concerning Blacks**

"Ginny dear, could you come down please," Molly Weasley screamed up the stairs of the Burrow. "Your friend Luna is here."

The little girl she had addressed got up from her bed, put aside her book and looked at herself in the mirror; small, way too freckly and in second-hand clothes. She huffed a little, at least her fiery red hair made her stand out somewhat, and went down the stairs to meet with her friend.

"Hello Ginevra," the blonde with the unnaturally perceptive eyes greeted. "You seem to have a severe case of wrackspurt infection; you should think more positive thoughts."

Comments like these had been becoming more and more frequent since the death of Luna's mother and they were starting to grate on Ginny's nerves; sure, it was sad for a little girl to suddenly lose her mother, no one would dispute that, but why did Luna have to become so… loony because of it. Honestly, Ginny held her father responsible. If Luna was 'loony', then Xenophilius was downright crazy. When they finally went to Hogwarts, Luna might finally be able to get some access to reality back, while she would finally be able to meet the boy-who-lived.

Now that would make for one hell of a start to her Hogwarts career. Being the little sister of Ronald Weasley would make it bumpy enough, so here was to hoping there would be no more trouble coming her way.

OOOOOOOO

"I really hate this place," Sirius complained as they pulled up to 12 Grimmauld Place in London. "Really, really hate it."

Harry just moaned next to her and Hermione commented, "As you've said before Sirius; just like we said before 'we know'."

Sirius sniffed haughtily. "No need to get snippy…" he continued to complain.

"You're right," she acquiesced. "It's just… my parents get under my skin, especially since I came back."

Following that explanation, she felt herself being snuggled harder by her boyfriend sitting next to her. Not keen on discussing the issue further, Hermione nodded towards the derelict house where the formerly proud Black family had made their home.

"Let's go inside," she sighed, looking at Sirius apologetically. "There's no point in dragging it out. Have you got the basilisk fang?"

"Yes, sweetie," Harry answered, now somewhat amusedly. "This time, you're not the only one carrying around important stuff."

Hermione was acutely aware Harry was trying to distract both her and Sirius; she did not mind though, as it was great having someone care for her like that.

"Alright," Sirius sighed and unbuckled. He led the couple to the front door of the rundown townhouse, where he drew his wand and tapped three specific spots on the old wood, prompting a series of clicks and a palpable rush of magic in the air. "I'll go in first, you stay behind me; we have no idea what could be inside, but whatever it is, it will be much more reluctant to hurt a Black than it would hurting a Potter or a muggleborn."

Hermione did not have to like it to see the wisdom in Sirius' words and she was certain the same was true for Harry. However, there was one thing she had to remind the marauder of. "Sirius, remember: we will have to deal with Kreacher later, and his helping us would make everything much easier; just keep in mind that Kreacher is not responsible what you have experienced inside this house. As much as I might dislike it, he is just an extension of his masters' will."

Sirius grumbled a little but obviously would not or could not answer; never had he been particularly known for a grown-up way to tackle with things, but it was actually important this time.

"Please," Harry weighed in, "just give him a chance. He was really nice after we befriended him."  
Continued grumbling from Sirius was not exactly encouraging but Hermione would take what she could get; at least he was not openly protesting or calling the elf a 'despicable little creature'. That was a start.

Hermione, followed by Harry, stepped over the threshold into the musty, dust-filled air of the Black family home. If possible, the place was even more eerie than she remembered it, which was probably due to the fact that it was so obviously empty. During the time of the Order of Phoenix the house had been dark and gloomy just the same, but there were signs of human habitation there as well; now the house just seemed _dead, _somehow.

"Kreacher," Sirius called more softly than she had ever heard before; it seemed her and Harry's efforts had not been in vain.

"Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't," the ragged old elf began barking as soon as he appeared. "Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't. Kreacher does not want to serve bad Master who made his Mistress so very sad. Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't…"

"Kreacher, that's enough," Sirius ordered. Immediately, the elf stopped talking and only his eyes continued to tell the insults he obviously wished to utter; of course, there was no way for him to know Hermione was muggleborn, but he sure as hell would be able to pick up on Harry's identity and he would also know his 'blood status'.

"Kreacher, I will allow you to talk shortly, but you will not insult the company I have brought," Sirius continued, to which the elf reluctantly nodded. "Now, Kreacher, we are here to help you fulfil my brother's last order."

Kreacher looked baffled for a moment before he collected his wits and took on a rebellious expression. "Kreacher does not know what the bad master is talking about, no he doesn't."

"Kreacher, we know what happened with Regulus and the locket," Harry butted in on the conversation, something that turned out to be a bad idea.

"The half-blood must not be talking to Kreacher, no it mustn't," the elf grumbled, visibly angering Sirius.

"I told you not to insult the people I came with," her reminded sternly, and only Harry's quick reflexes saved the elf from himself as he quickly moved to punish himself against the troll-foot umbrella stand located in the entrance hall.

"Let Kreacher go, Kreacher must punish himself for disobeying bad master," he hollered, way more energetically than Hermione had ever seen him the last time around, at least before they had befriended him.

"Kreacher, you will not punish yourself," Sirius ordered, although he sounded somewhat reluctant to do so. "Just get the locket from wherever you have it and bring it to the kitchen; oh, and tell me the truth: Is the kitchen safe for us?"

"The kitchen is safe for the blood-traitor and his friends," Kreacher grumbled before popping away, presumably to get the locket out of the display case it had dwelled in so long. The group of three made their way to the kitchen, where they were greeted yet again by Kreacher, the locket lying on the table and an eerie deja-vu for Hermione and, she assumed, Harry. The place was just like she remembered it from when Harry, Weasley and she herself had come here after the wedding.

Hermione was aware Sirius had to have his difficulties believing they were actually from the future, at least on some plane, so she had something to ask from Kreacher. "Kreacher, can you please tell us how you got hold of this locket?"

And so, with some more grumbling about accepting orders from Hermione, which Sirius stopped, Kreacher told the tale of Regulus' delayed growth of a moral backbone.

"So my brother did not die a Death Eater?" An obviously shaken and very emotional Sirius asked the old elf who answered surprisingly gently, almost sad.

"Master Regulus died saving Kreacher," he said. Before anyone knew, the elf broke into tears and wailed, "But Kreacher failed Master Regulus, yes he did; he tried destroying the locket, Kreacher did, but he failed, and he punished himself and he failed again."

That was it for Hermione; she would never be able to stand by and watch any being, even one as unpleasant as Kreacher was at this moment. "Kreacher," she tried to console him, "we can destroy the locket and help you with Regulus' order."

The expression on Kreacher's face was meandering between outrage at being talked to by who he was clearly assuming was unworthy of being in the Black home and wonder at the prospect of finally fulfilling Regulus' last order.

"You can help destroy the locket for Master Regulus?" the old elf asked, his eyes wider than she had seen it, probably since Harry had given him the fake amulet in the other timeline. "Kreacher could finally avenge Master Regulus?"

This time it fell to Harry to answer; just like she did, he remembered the Kreacher they had been dealing with during their time on the run and he certainly would not mind having that version back in their lives. He had told her as much. "Yes, Kreacher," Harry said calmly, fixing the elf with his green eyes. "If you promise to do exactly what we tell you to do, you can even destroy it yourself, if you want to."

From the elf's reaction Hermione was sure they would soon have to deal with a fainted Kreacher from the excitement coursing through his old body; it was the only time she could remember Kreacher actually seeming to be made of somewhat similar stuff to Dobby, with all the nodding and ear-wagging he did.

"Kreacher will do that," he assured. "That evil, despicable thing will be obliterated by Kreacher." The old elf squared his posture and looked grimly at the horcrux lying innocently on the kitchen table. Hermione was somewhat surprised at Harry offering Kreacher the opportunity to destroy the locket, although in hindsight she was not completely sure why she should be; it was just such an inherently _Harry _thing to do.

Harry took a look at Kreacher and cleared his voice to get the future horcrux-obliterator's attention. "Kreacher, you have to be strong when you face that thing, all right?" he reminded. "It will try to play on your fears and doubts and make you question everything."

Kreacher just looked grimmer now and glared at the locket the same way he had formerly glared at all the 'mudbloods dishonouring the house of the Blacks'. Hermione felt compelled to remind Kreacher of something now.

"You can still back out," she told Kreacher. "This thing had a lot of time close to you; we can take care of it without problem."

The addressed elf shook his head and simply replied, "How does Kreacher destroy the evil magic thing?"

Hermione heard Harry chuckle a little. Hermione was sure he had expected this; Kreacher had never been reluctant when it came to taking direct action. An image of Mundungus Fletcher sprawled out on the ground, the elf standing over him with a saucepan, came to mind.

Next to her, Harry pulled what was definitely a very pointy-looking basilisk tooth out of an expanded bag as he started instructing the elf on the proceedings. Hearing him talk about what was to happen, Hermione became more and more confident in her assumption that this was indeed what Harry had been planning all along.

"Okay Kreacher. Are you ready?" Harry inquired of the elf, standing there looking mightily determined. Without talking, but with an almost worrying intensity, Kreacher nodded again, although minus the ear-flapping, readied the tooth. "When I open the locket, you just put that tooth through whatever is in there and don't listen to anything that comes out."

Hermione watched, intensely worried, as Harry hissed what she assumed was a command to open at the locket, which the gaudy piece of jewellery promptly did. But contrary to what she had been told about Harry and Weasley's confrontation with the piece of soul inside, nothing actually came to the defence of Tom Riddle's vital possession.

She held her breath as Kreacher, who had also been momentarily surprised by the lack of action on the locket's part, raised the tooth and drove it clean through the eyes that had appeared where normally one would expect to find photos of loved ones.

An ear-splitting scream pierced through the silence of the kitchen as the silk that had formerly lined the inside of the Slytherin heirloom smoked and blackened.

OOOOOOOO

"What the hell was that?" Sirius exclaimed, looking at the remains of Voldemort's horcrux, after taking a large gulp of the brandy supplied by Kreacher. They had offered the elf a break, but he would not take it.

"That," Harry supplied, "was a horcrux."

Sirius looked at it again, disgust in his eyes, before he replied, "I know that; I mean why did it not defend itself against us?"

This time, Harry was all out of answers. However, as Hermione started laughing he was soon convinced she had the answer and that it was way easier and funnier than it should have been, considering what they were dealing with.

After she had finally managed to calm down somewhat, Hermione supplied the answer. "I think even Voldemort's soul piece made the same mistake he made: It just did not think Kreacher was a danger."

Now, Harry was laughing as well, while Sirius was just looking gobsmacked. "By Merlin's saggy pants, how did that idiot nearly bring down the British magical society?"

Harry continued laughing, although it now held a wry undertone. "Because for one, he may be an idiot when it comes to some things but that does not mean he is not brilliant-in-an-evil-way with others and secondly, his message is powerful and found loads of admirers; with the amount of power and money the Malfoys and the other purebloods brought with them, the only reason we are here today like this is the fact that Tom took it upon himself to interpret a prophecy he had no chance of understanding."

Sirius was visibly pondering his explanation while Hermione took it upon herself to lay it out even clearer. "The Greeks had a concept in their tragedies called hamartia, which was most often the fatal flaw that would lead to the protagonist's downfall in the end; Voldemort's fatal flaw is hubris." Reacting to the looks she was now receiving from both the men with her she declared, "What? You know I read a lot, and the Greeks and their stories should be part of every self-respecting reader's portfolio."

By now, Harry's godfather was laughing right along with him; this explanation was just so _Hermione, _there was no way it could have been unable to entertain them, even though she probably made a really good point. This was something that was driven home even further by the next idea Harry had.

"You know," he mused after he had finally calmed down somewhat, "I think that is a flaw he shares with most of his Death Eaters, or rather the organisation itself. Just think about their biggest defeats; they were all due to him underestimating his enemy and leaving out key-points in his planning."

"You're right," Hermione admitted thoughtfully. "We should just make sure that we don't run into the same trap; just because we have some information on what happened in another time line's future, doesn't mean we are perfectly prepared."

Hermione's admonition managed to get Harry in a thoughtful mood as well. "Well, we took some steps to keep our information accurate," he reminded. "Remember that thing we had you say in the interview after your trial?" he asked Sirius.

"Hmmm…"the addressee responded, "that thing about Wormtail? I've been wondering about it, actually; I mean, we all know Wormtail is alive, why have me say I think he's dead?"

"We were trying to do everything we could to keep Wormtail where he was," Hermione explained. "We've been successful so far; the tracking charm on the rat still puts him at the Burrow."

OOOOOOOO

"Hey pup, what are you doing?" Sirius asked from behind Harry, startling the concentrated young man somewhat out of his concentration.

"Studying muggle chemistry," Harry replied absently. "It's quite interesting…"

For a few minutes, Harry continued with his reading of the somewhat complex text in front of him.

"Are you going to tell me _why _you're studying muggle chemistry?" he inquired, again dragging Harry out of his concentration. "Don't you have enough to do already? I saw Hermione working on some runes earlier."

Still somewhat absently, Harry replied, "I know. But to make the best of your enchanting, you need crystals, and the good ones are hard to find."

Again there were a few minutes of silence as Harry returned to the various concepts he had been dealing with, as Sirius ended that concentration for a third time. "Uuh, pup. You still haven't told me why you're studying muggle chemistry."

Now somewhat fed up with the constant interruptions in what already was a complex topic, Harry replied, "Muggle chemistry has a way of precisely growing crystals depending on the materials used and the conditions involved." He turned around in his chair to face his godfather. "Might it be true that you are a little bit bored?"

"Of course," the grown man in front of him replied, "no one wants to do anything fun with me around here."

Harry gave a short sigh, rubbed his forehead with his hand to chase away the oncoming head-ache and looked back at Sirius; he sometimes got into these moods, especially with Harry around, where he would somewhat revert to a much younger Sirius. Maybe, Harry mused, it was just the man-child showing itself more, now that he was not in the oppressive atmosphere of the Black family home.

"Sirius," he complained, knowing he sounded somewhat whiny as well, although he felt it was at least somewhat justified, "you know what we are dealing with; can you please cut the childish crap? Also, who's to say Hermione and I _don't _have fun doing what we do here? I for one enjoy learning and inventing new stuff."

The hurt look he was now receiving certainly had not been Harry's intention, although he meant every word he had said. "I'm sorry, Sirius, I did not mean to be rude; really though, what we have to do here is important to both Hermione and me and if you want something to do, just find something to do; it's not our job to provide you with amusement. I realise it must take some time to process the fact I'm already eighteen, but that's how it is." The dejection Sirius was openly showing was painful for Harry, but he had one more thing to say, and he could not believe he was going to say it (mostly because the last person he had heard saying it had been Mrs. Weasley). "I am not my father, Sirius."

OOOOOOOO

Hermione was excited. Just minutes ago she had come across a great idea and now it already started bearing fruits with only the limited time she had invested in thinking about it.

"Harry," she called for her boyfriend whose back she had just spotted in the large gate of Potter Castle's keep, "I have an idea."

Still in the doorway, Harry turned around and caught the rapidly approaching witch in a hug followed by a sweet kiss. "What is it you found, Missy Miney?"

She mock-scowled at him in reaction to the nickname he sometimes jokingly gave her when he wanted to wind her up. "You know how we've been thinking about a suitable bolt-hole?" Harry nodded his head in response. "Well, I just came up with the perfect place; there are some caves along the shore that are at least partly flooded, so no one can come in by foot that easily."

Harry seemed to be pondering the idea, grappling with the concept; Hermione knew from his own admission that he would prefer a bunker (apparently, he considered it fascinating), and Hermione did not have anything against it in principle, but eventually, Britain had not built that many of those out in the countryside, at least not that she knew of. Of course, there were some, but those were all smaller than she would be comfortable with considering it might have to be a long-term hiding option.

"Oh fine," Harry grumbled, at least half in jest. "A cave works as well; plus, it will give Sirius something to do. I think he feels pretty pent-up at the moment."

This had Hermione laughing. "That's putting it mildly," she commented. Noting the weird mood Harry seemed to be in at this, she gave him another little kiss and looked in his eyes. "Hey, what's going on?"

Instead of an answer, she only received a sigh and a small shake of the head, prompting her to put on her best 'naggy-face'. "Fine," Harry quipped, "it's Sirius; he doesn't seem to be doing well with that 'adult Harry in a young body' thing. Sometimes I think he actually did see me as a way to relive some of the things he had with my dad and now… I don't know what to think, really."

All out of answers on that particular issue, not that she thought she could actually give any helpful ones, she intensified their hug a little to let her Harry know she was there for him.

"Thanks," he whispered into her ear.

OOOOOOOO

The group of three was sitting in the dining room, taking in their dinner over somewhat tense silence. Sirius was still miffed at Harry and, in all his adult wisdom, had obviously decided to give him something that came rather close to the cold shoulder treatment. Finally, with several days of pent-up annoyance backing her up, Hermione had had enough.

"Oh, I can't believe it, you two," she exclaimed, looking accusingly at both men; Sirius might have gotten a longer glare, though, just for upsetting Harry. "Harry, I know how much you have been looking forward to Sirius being free, just spend some more time with him." With Harry looking appropriately contrite, she turned to Sirius who had already taken on a carefully scolded face in advance. "And you: You're a grown man. How is it you're not able to find anything to do on your own? I realise it can't be easy being thrown in the deep end of all of this, but you're not making it any easier on us, either."

The Marauder was now wearing such a similar look to Harry, Hermione had difficulty keeping a firm expression; nevertheless, she managed. Years of berating Harry and Weasley over homework while they tried derailing her efforts had somewhat trained her on this. Her efforts seemed to be bearing fruits, too: Before her eyes, Sirius turned toward Harry, shook his head remorsefully and said in an uncharacteristically small voice, "I'm sorry, pup. It's just… that locket thing hammered home you really are who… what you say you are. I've just been looking forward to doing all these things with you that you would do with a kid. Merlin, I was even looking forward to giving you 'the talk'."

He said some more things, however Hermione was unable to understand them and had the strong suspicion Harry was as well. Eventually, Sirius veered off and stopped talking altogether, just looking at Harry sadly.

"I'm sorry, too," Harry replied. "I promise to do stuff with you as well; it just won't be the kids stuff you've been expecting."

Without much of a preamble the two men hugged each other, as Sirius seemed to be bravely fighting some tears, whether over the time he had lost in Azkaban or due to there suddenly being a grown-up Harry, Hermione did not know. "That's alright; I can get to know both of you, that's more than I ever thought possible when I was in there with the dementors. So I'll never get to do all that kids stuff, who cares."

Hermione was somewhat surprised by the amount of sincerity behind the words; overwhelming sincerity was not something continuously associated with Sirius Black.

"Who ever said you could never experience the whole children thing?" Harry asked, still in his godfather's arms and just loud enough for Hermione to hear. "You're just 32, you can still have children."

It was starting to feel a bit lonely for Hermione to watch what she considered the real birth of a new family; with the need for both a hug and a place in a caring family getting overwhelming, she just joined the two.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hello all,

Hope you enjoyed the newest chapter; my wrist is still acting up, making writing less fun than it usually is for me. It's getting better though.

Furthermore, the fact that I wrote a whole first year is a real ego boost. As always, please leave a review, I do very much appreciate them.

Enjoy your day,

alexandertheII


	28. Chapter 28: Days Like These

**Chapter 28: Days Like These**

"Huh," Harry commented, "so this is how a cave looks up close."

Sirius, Harry and Hermione were standing in one of the caves on the cliffside close to Potter Castle. Harry had asked the elves for some help on finding the largest one; for some reason the elves of the Castle knew the caves quite well.

"It looks like it could work," Sirius determined. "As long as you manage to get it dry this could be a really great place to hang out. Just imagine a fireplace, some sofas, a few torches; This could make for a nice man cave."

Harry looked at him with a somewhat annoyed expression, shook his head and continued to look around; it was indeed large enough for what they had in mind. There was a rather spacious main cavern from which a flooded tunnel led directly into the English Channel. As it was low tide, the water did not reach all the way up to the floor, quieting any concerns Harry might have had about flooding; with how things stood, any wayward water should be manageable.

"You know what this is, right?" Hermione inquired. "This is a real life Batcave."

As Harry started laughing about the both apt and hilarious observation his girlfriend had made, Sirius just stared at the two of them, as if they'd lost their marbles. His expression was so baffled, it only made the young couple laugh even more.

"Would someone please explain to me what is so funny," Sirius demanded. "I really hate not being a part of the joke." His expression, meandering somewhere between real and fake annoyance only served to amuse Harry and Hermione even more.

"I'll show you in time," Harry said. "It's a thing in some muggle stories."

With that obvious source of amusement out of the way the trio continued exploring the cave; it was actually larger than they had thought in the beginning with more than ten smaller side chambers along three tunnels. Harry could really see this as more than a temporary bolt hole. It might even serve as quite a comfortable headquarters should the need arise. Come to think of it, with some proper furnishing and considering the possibilities of magic, the caves had the potential to be a great, if somewhat unusual, place to live.

He looked towards his girlfriend, gave a small nod, receiving one in return, and turned towards his godfather. He and Hermione had talked about this; although they were in agreement that Sirius had some growing up to do, they also did not see a problem in helping him feel needed.

"Sirius," Harry called, "Hermione and I have a little favour to ask. We would like you to help us furnish this cave as our retreat; you can get Kreacher to help you, or any of the other elves if they're willing, but this has to stay a secret."

From the look on his face Harry could see that Sirius was definitely liking the idea; the possibility of having something to do that would also help his godson and his godson's girlfriend seemed to appeal to him. Also, Harry was quite sure that the opportunity of designing a secret base in a cave was just something the marauder had a natural inclination for.

"You won't interfere," the future interior designer demanded. "You can give me some demands for what you want and need but after that you just let me work on this, come out in say… three weeks and let yourselves be surprised."

The impish grin he was wearing did not bode well for the normalcy of their future hidey-hole; however, since that future hidey-hole was to be situated inside a cave, the aspect of normalcy was already a goner. Therefore Harry, Hermione and Sirius shook on it, before Harry called for Steward who took both him and Hermione back to the castle.

Sirius, they left behind, as he had declared he would get started immediately.

OOOOOOOO

It was nearly four weeks into the break, meaning Hermione had been staying at Potter Castle for about two weeks and Sirius had now been working on the cave for one, when they were due for some change; it was the day Neville was expected to arrive. Contrary to their earlier planning and keeping in mind that they had visited Longbottom Manor over the winter break, the place they would stay had been changed in mutual conclusion.

Harry and Hermione were standing next to the fireplace waiting for their friend who was scheduled to arrive any minute now. They were both looking forward to the distraction; even though they enjoyed the work they did, a change of pace was definitely desirable.

After just a few minutes of waiting, the flames they had been staring at turned into the somewhat disconcerting green so indicative of travel by floo. Out stumbled Neville, his clean robes dusted with soot and ash; he was closely followed by his grandmother who managed to make a much statelier figure as she exited the roaring flames. Without much hesitation, Neville strode forward to engulf first Hermione and then Harry in a warm hug. His grandmother, on the other hand, was much more reserved, as befitted a venerable old lady like her.

"Hey, you two," Neville greeted, "how are you?"

The amount of enthusiasm Neville consistently displayed in this time line never ceased to amaze Harry; he could very well remember the shy and quiet boy he had known for six years, shared a dorm with for six years. The amount of difference some friends could make was truly astounding and only furthered his conviction that Luna, come September, would have at least one friend; considering he and Hermione were thinking along the same lines on this one, she would actually have two.

"Duke Potter," Augusta said in her stately manner, courteously inclining her head, "it is nice to see you again; you as well, Miss Granger. Would you be so kind as to tell me where the Marquess of Black might be?"

It was a good question, of course, even though Harry had no real inclination to answer truthfully. The actual answer was that he was currently working on the caves, the same caves he and Hermione had been banned from, until such time as Sirius deemed them ready for inspection.

"Oh, he's somewhere in the basement working on a project. Didn't want to tell us what it was exactly," Hermione lied through her teeth. "I'm sure one of the elves can fetch him real quick."

Hermione had barely finished talking, when Fips, the free elf with a penchant for pranks popped into the great hall, where the fireplace could be found; with him he brought a somewhat dishevelled looking Sirius who was wearing the grin that could usually be found on him whenever he had been witness to, or even the victim of, a great practical joke.

"Your Ladyship," the still smiling marauder greeted, "a pleasure to see you. I am terribly sorry to not have been here to greet you in the first place; I was working on something for my godson."

"No offense taken and well met, Lord Black," Augusta stated. With all the greeting being done, the children, or rather the two adults and one child, were dismissed to 'do something fun', while the supposed adults stayed behind to hammer out last minute agreements.

The trio of Harry, Hermione and Neville went on a tour of the castle; having lived all his life in a fortified Manor, Neville knew what to expect from medieval fortifications. Potter Castle, however, was way beyond anything he'd ever seen before, as he said.

"I mean, I've seen castles as big as this, but those were all ruins. This is actually still standing," he commented, as he gazed down the ramparts of the inner courtyard. as with any opportunity to pass on knowledge, Hermione could not hold back on giving their friend a 'short and simple' explanation on how exactly one could identify an actual castle.

"…of course, not all castles have moats, even though most do; but Hogwarts simply isn't built like a castle: there are too many towers, no proper gates and the main building is just too large."

Neville was listening silently, while Harry felt himself being reminded of the early days of S.P.E.W.. However, controlling his girlfriend's behaviour was definitely not his task; he was sure she would expect him to remind her of it later specifically because she had asked him to come up if she ever got like this, but Neville didn't seem to mind, so Harry didn't either.

OOOOOOOO

The time they spent with Neville at Potter Castle was not what you could call unusual; for that, Harry and Hermione only loved it more. With so much of their lives being absolutely and utterly unpredictable, time spent with a friend simply goofing around was manna from heaven. Nowhere should it be said that this time was boring, however: while it was certainly true that keeping their secrets from Neville was not always easy, they managed.

In the wake of the 'Voldemort being back' story, Neville had even convinced his grandmother to allow him to use magic during the break. Not that he would have needed it, considering the adult that was supervising them was Sirius Black, whose respect for rules and laws had certainly suffered under his unjust incarceration in Azkaban. Combined with the fact that the Trace was unsuitable to provide information on who exactly was casting magic, this led to some memorable lessons on staying alive.

It was during one such session, they were only using a very limited arsenal of spells, that Sirius approached the group to inform them of the success he had had in completing what he had described to Augusta as a surprise for Harry. While Harry and Hermione were still not sure about letting his grandmother in on the secret, they were in absolute agreement that Neville would not be excluded. They reasoned that, should it ever come to the worst, Neville would be able to take his grandmother with him; for what would happen after the holidays were over, that had yet to be decided.

"Just to be clear on this," Hermione said to the others, "is anyone else expecting some ludicrous hidden entrance to our secret headquarters?"

Harry snickered a little in response; he could very well imagine the kind of gate his godfather would devise to protect their hideout. The number of possibilities was almost endless; therefore, Harry didn't wager a guess as to what Sirius had actually done. Next to him, Neville was expecting chaos as well; if the almost two weeks he had now spent at Potter Castle were any indication, one thing you could always count on when Sirius Black was involved, was some sort of mayhem. Hermione on the other hand was more absorbed by the practicalities involved in making something like this work.

With Sirius being involved, she wondered how much real use they could get out of said secret entrance. She did not, however, have any doubts about the general applicability of the refurbished caves. Still, Without a working secret entrance, a secret base significantly lost usefulness.

Therefore, it was with some doubt that they mounted the brooms Sirius had supplied and followed him in his flight low over the green fields of grass. Speaking in general, one could always expect Harry to be in the lead in any flying related activity; this was the same here as well, with the slight caveat that Sirius was the leading their group, closely followed by his godson.

Their guide led them to the cliffs close to where the caves were located; on first glance it seemed like perfectly ordinary stone. As if to make sure no one got bored on his tour, Sirius took out a small vial filled with a clear liquid and smashed it against the rocks. Without further ado and accompanied by a war cry of "just follow me, close your eyes if you must!" he collided into the smooth surface and vanished.

Following what seemed to be a general need to recklessly charge into situations, Harry soon followed, only closing his eyes moments before he met the wall. The impact he had half expected never came, though, as he found himself above the same water, which how to hold back he had once wondered. After what felt like a minute later, Hermione broke through the rough stone, pressing her eyes shut as if her life depended on it.

"Hermione," Sirius called, "you can open your eyes now!"

It took both Harry and Sirius calling her one more time, before Hermione finally did. It was a good thing though, because in her state of impaired spatial awareness, Hermione had been steadily steering towards the surface of the water. Given the fact that this was the Atlantic Ocean, it would have been a rather abrupt eye-opener.

Only moments later Neville followed her into the cavern and, while Hermione had managed to stay afloat, he did not prove as lucky; with a scream and a splash he landed in the icy waters of the English Channel.

"And that my friends," Sirius commented, "is why the entrance is above the water; it softens the landing." A quick 'Levicorpus' later, he had the shivering boy back on dry land. Affected by a drying and a warming charm, that same shivering soon stopped as well.

"I'm glad you had your fun," Neville bit back, "but next time, please warn us."

With all of them now dry and warm, they finally took the opportunity to inspect the work Sirius had done; in the large main part of the cave, he had placed what looked like the fire Hermione liked to conjure, the only difference being that these flames were of the dark red variety. Additionally, there were a fluffy rug, two sofas, a coffee table and a bar. At the entrance to the cave, where the water would rise and fall with the tides, there was a small pontoon; in response to the questioning looks he was receiving, Sirius just smiled devilishly and made a 'move on' motion.

"You really went all out with the 'evil magician' colour scheme, didn't you?" Neville inquired, prompting a snort from Sirius.

"if you don't like blood-red, you can always change it at the main fireplace," he explained; with a determined expression, Sirius drew his wand and stepped toward the large fire in the entrance hall/living room. As he pushed the tip into a small indentation on the fireplace's pedestal, the fires, both in the torches and in the fireplace, suddenly changed colour. "For some reason, the colour determines the heat; red is the coolest, and with blue or even white you can seriously burn your fingers."

Harry looked at his godfather and raised an eyebrow, prompting somewhat of a glare in return. He could deny it all he wanted, Harry was sure Sirius had somehow managed to do exactly the thing he was now warning them of.

"Every room has one of these fireplaces," he continued, "and each of them controls the torches of that room."

They were then led Down the first of the three tunnels leading away from the main chamber. Keeping in mind who had designed the place, the whole thing was surprisingly normal. The three rooms coming off what could be considered a hallway were simple bedrooms, all of them adorned with the same fires they had already seen in the entrance Hall and the tunnel. The main difference between the rooms came from the different shapes they had been given by nature. Despite the different shapes though, they all shared one thing: the furniture was built directly _into _the rock. This meant that someone, and Harry would bet it had been an elf, had hewn niches out of the stone that almost perfectly fit the size and shape of a mattress. The cupboards were even more impressive; for these, rock had not only been hollowed out, but small parts had been left standing to function as the shelves.

Aside from the expected differences again caused by the expectable unpredictability of nature, the rooms adjacent to the second tunnel were mainly the same: again, each of them had two beds, two cupboards and a fire with some torches controlled by the fireplace. The place where it really got interesting was the third tunnel. Here, Sirius had placed all the other things needed for a possibly extended stay; there was something akin to a workshop, not that dissimilar from the one Harry had at the Castle (even though it also included a small potions lab), a small lounge with a number of empty bookshelves, a training room, of which Sirius proudly stated that it was almost completely rectangular and perfectly stabilized against even the strongest blasting curses, and then there was the kitchen.

This was the room that already had the most lived-in feeling and the reason why became all too apparent very soon; in one corner of the kitchen, between the counters and a cooking isle, one could see Fopey, the elvish cook of Potter Castle happily bustling around. It was evident that Sirius had given her almost free reign over the design of the room, because many of the things she, albeit only under heavy prodding by Hermione, had complained about in the castle's kitchen.

"Master Harry, Missy Miney," the excitable female elf greeted them, "it being wonderful to see you; have you seen Fopey's new kitchen?"

Despite the obvious fact that they had, of course, seen the design they both answered in the affirmative, while Sirius and Neville just stood in the entrance snickering to themselves. Taking a better look at both appliances and furnishing, it was obvious they were designed to be used by both human-sized as well as elvish cooks; there were even some steps, mounted on a rail on the floor that led around the counters, meaning whatever small being decided to take an interest in cooking would be able to easily reach the surfaces designed for working.

Aside from the large fireplace, over which Sirius told them a cooking grate could be placed, there was an oven, what looked like a gas cooking field and a pantry, formed out of the stone just like its counterparts in the bedrooms. Completing the setup was a large dinner table with seating for twelve in front of yet another fireplace.

Something in the whole design seemed to be bothering Hermione; she looked around warily until she turned to Sirius and asked, "How is it, that we're not suffocating? I mean, these fires all need air, but you haven't said anything about an air supply."

Sirius chuckled a little, probably happy about the fact that he could now finally tell Hermione something new about magic. "Oh, but Hermione," he started grandiosely, "these are no simple flames, these are flames of magic; they're pure energy that's given form by the enchantments placed upon them. They actually draw from the same magical nexus as Potter Castle." He now peered somewhat apologetically at Harry. "Making these is way beyond my abilities," he said ruefully, "so I had to buy them. Don't worry, no one there knows who or what they were for; they don't even know who bought them."

Harry thought about everything he knew about his godfather, trying his best to discount anything he had learned from his previous attempt at his teenage years, and deemed this as passable; sure, Sirius was headstrong and cocky, but at least in this timeline, and when security was concerned, he was on point. Even the other Sirius he remembered had always been very interested in keeping Harry safe; the problem was generally more in convincing him he himself needed to stay safe.

In the end, it fell to Neville to address another glaring issue. "Uh, Sirius, where exactly are the toilets?" From the expression his godfather adopted immediately, Harry took that he had been waiting for that one. With a grandiose gesture, he bid the group to follow him out of the kitchen and to the end of the tunnel it was adjacent to.

"Behold," he advertised in what could easily be mistaken for a game show host introducing his next participant, "the sanitary facilities."

at the touch of his palm, the right-hand section at the very end of the corridor disappeared and allowed them into a bathroom in the same style as the rest of the hideout.

"There's one at the end of each corridor, and the ones next to the bedrooms have showers, as well."

OOOOOOOO

With both Hermione and Neville keeping him company at Potter Castle, time was simply flying by for Harry and before he even had opportunity to mentally prepare for the upcoming date, it was July 31st.

His birthday had never been something Harry was especially keen on, although after having found at least one true friend, they had become better. This year, however, on what was this second twelfth birthday, or maybe it was his nineteenth, things were planned differently. He was now receiving what he and Neville had done for Hermione, although on a somewhat smaller scale. After all, many of their friends were away on holiday, or were simply not close enough to be invited to Potter Castle.

And so it came that, on the morning of Harry's birthday the only one still missing was Susan Bones; Hermione and Neville, of course, were already present, while Tracey was still on her tour of continental Europe. Daphne had expectedly been forbidden to attend and Susan's other half, namely Hannah Abbott, was away as well.

The residents of Potter Castle had a jovial and generally light-hearted breakfast in the Great Hall, in which the elves, by Harry's express demand, were also participating. The initial plan, at least as he, Hermione, and Neville understood it, was that Harry would receive his gifts later, when Susan was there as well. Despite this there was one person who could simply not wait to see his reaction, and whose almost violently anticipatory fidgeting was really driving everyone else at the table nuts.

Giving a small sigh, Harry turned to look at his godfather. "You won't come down until you've given me your present, will you?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, prompting fervent nodding from his godfather that, in his dog form, would have been almost violent wagging of the tail. "Come on then, let's see it."

With glee, Sirius pulled out a (crudely) wrapped package that could only contain one thing.

"You got me a broom?" Harry asked needlessly, to enthusiastic agreement of Sirius.

"I did," came the almost immediate answer, "not just any broom, though; open it."

Harry did as he was ordered and before long, the gleaming handle of a Nimbus 2001 was jutting out of the remaining wrapping. Neville was looking at the broom in revelry and the recipient, namely Harry, was happy as well. However, Hermione was glaring at Sirius a little and her boyfriend had no trouble in finding out, why that was.

"Don't worry, Hermione," he soothed, "I won't get into Quidditch just because I have a great broom; if I wanted to do that, I'd just buy one myself."

This pronouncement brought forth two distinct reactions: The first one was from Sirius who, despite his earlier cheery anticipation now looked somewhat disheartened. The other was Hermione, who looked distinctly happier; it seemed the idea of Harry once again dodging bludgers from vindictive Slytherins did not appeal to her. Understandably so, Harry had to admit.

Sirius' look of indignation was almost comical. "Really, we can fly together, and I will fly at Hogwarts, but I really have better things to do than be on the Quidditch field three times a week to fly around, training for three games a year."

The child-in-an-adult's-body grumbled a little before he acquiesced, although he still looked somewhat unhappy.

OOOOOOOO

It was close to lunch when Susan arrived. Escorted by her mother, she appeared very much the same way Neville had, when he arrived; even the difference between the greeting doled out by her and her mother was somewhat reminiscent of the difference between Neville and his grandmother.

Mary Bones, one of the few with that surname to still be alive in the Wizarding World, was a woman whose familial bonds with her daughter were evident. From what Harry remembered, Susan would end up looking very much similar to a younger version of her mother later on in her life. She even had the same kind of blonde, straight hair as the older woman. From his encounters with Amelia Bones, Harry could tell Susan was an amalgamation of the visual traits of both her paternal and fraternal family, with Mary's hair and shape of face, while the nose betrayed the Bones' heritage.

The young visitor was soon released into the custody of Harry, Hermione and Neville, while her mother was attempting to 'have a word' with Sirius; as far as Harry could tell, they had either known each other at Hogwarts or Sirius' reputation of indubitable recklessness just preceded him.

Susan was given essentially the same tour of the castle Neville had received, although Hermione's talk on medieval fortifications was somewhat stream-lined. Before long, they had been supplied with a blanket and some food (curtesy of some of the free elves) and were sitting around fifty meters away from the main gate.

As established at Hermione's birthday, he did not receive a gift from her; they had somewhat moved past that in their relationship of giving and taking and it would just feel weird to them. Plus, anything they could honestly give would probably cause questions being asked they did not want to answer.

Neville's present was somewhat more subdued than Sirius' had been: It was a sword. Nothing the likes of Gryffindor's sword, of course, but any real interesting story behind it could not be ruled out, either. This was because the clearly very old piece had been found in one of the lesser used corners of Longbottom Manor, where it had, presumably led a rather boring life as a display piece before being phased out.

The only other present he received then was the one from Susan, a beautiful piece of artwork depicting their whole, united group of friends, sitting under a tree and laughing in merriment; the aura it emanated was so uplifting, Harry could almost feel the happiness of the people depicted in the picture seeping into him. The content smiles worn by the others sharing the picknick blanket seemed to strengthen that point.

However, in the end the reason might just have been that Harry was having a better birthday than he could ever remember having. Yes, there were dark and hard times ahead, but a day like this one helped keep things in perspective; they were fighting for more days like this one.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hi all,

Enjoy the new chapter, leave a review etc. pp.

Enjoy your day/night/evening/morning,

alexandertheII


	29. Chapter 29: A New Song

**Chapter 29: A New Song  
**

"Gotcha," Neville gloated, just as he himself was struck in the chest with a well-placed colour-changer from Hermione. "Not again," he sighed and trotted to the side-lines, right behind Tracey who he had taken out of the game just moments earlier.

The lower courtyard of Potter Castle was currently playing host to a bizarre amalgamation of game and training involving both Harry and Hermione, as well as their visitors. Those visitors were Neville, Susan, Hannah and Tracey Davis.

"Just don't be so cocky next time," Hermione grinned as she rushed to another piece of cover, "as to gloat out in the open."

Harry just looked grimly at his teammate who, now for the third time, had been hit due to a lack of situational awareness and overconfidence; the irony of Neville ever being _overconfident _was not lost on Harry. He threw a glance at the adults watching from their coffee table on the ramparts, paying special attention to his godfather. Harry was not completely sure, whether Sirius was completely aware of it, but that overconfidence issue had once cost him his life.

During this particular round of their game Harry had already lost Neville and Susan, whereas Hermione's team had only suffered one casualty; this was remedied by a quick jinx he snuck under Hannah's guard, making her giggle uncontrollably, just before hitting her with one of the colour-changers, which turned a good part of her sweater a vibrant green.

The adults had needed some convincing to allow the group of friends use of their wands outside of school, but a few reminders, both the subtle and the blunter variety, that a certain Tom Riddle was demonstrably still alive (somewhat) and trying to return to being so completely had greased the wheels considerably.

With Hannah out of the fray it was now again down to Harry and Hermione to decide the match: the last Harry had seen her was as she had dashed behind the outer border of the duelling circuit after taking out Neville. Considering that had been some time ago, Harry had no idea where to find his girlfriend now. As per their agreement, as far as tactics went there were no holds barred now; dangerous spells were still a big 'no-no', though.

He felt the somewhat weird yolk-like sensation of the disillusionment charm flow down his head and back, hoping it would sufficiently cover him, even with the surprisingly sunny afternoon Potter Castle was experiencing.

Contrary to the last time he had competed against Hermione like this, Harry did not start a search pattern or anything like it, because it had gotten him stunned the last time around; she had laid down a number of tripping jinxes that were to alert her whenever they were triggered, and boy had he fallen for it. No, this time he would be more cautious.

Harry cast a low, murmured 'Homenum Revelio' as he had not mastered that particular spell non-verbally, and waited for the tell-tale feeling of a presence. The fact that Hermione would most likely feel the effect of the spell swooping over her was an unfortunate, albeit unavoidable side-effect. However, his expectations were not met; there were results for everyone he was expecting, the four signatures he thought were the children on the side-lines as well as those of the adults enjoying their snack on the ramparts.

Constantly scanning the ground in front of him for the little signs Hermione left when putting down her traps, Harry slowly and cautiously rounded the duelling rink, looking for any indication of what his girlfriend was planning. She had already won the last round, now it was his time to shine. Harry was pondering the possibilities of how exactly Hermione had been able to evade the human-revealing spell when his instincts suddenly told him to duck.

He immediately did, and it was a good thing he did. Just a fraction of a second later, right where he had been standing before, a stunner impacted the enclosure. From the brief glimpse he had gotten of the spell's trajectory Harry could only just make out an area from which he was sure it must have originated; somewhere around the four children. The question of how Hermione had been able to avoid the 'Homenum Revelio' was now also tentatively answered.

"Good to know," Harry mused, "if you want to hide from one of these, you just have to stand really close to someone else it seems." This revelation, while helpful also led to a distasteful conclusion on Harry's part; if Hermione insisted on hiding between their friends he was either going to have to flush her out somehow, stun all their friends (sans Daphne, but she had her own problems as well) or somehow devise a way to find someone hiding under a disillusionment charm that did not involve any use of the human-revealing charm.

"Being safely tucked away, she won't be moving," Harry concluded, "so it's no use to wait for any reflections or imperfections in the disillusionment charm; no footprints, either." Silently relocating, Harry did come up with something though. While the disillusionment charm hid a person, or object for that matter, from visual detection it did not mitigate their effects on the environment. While a skilled caster (which Hermione undoubtedly was) could mimic shadows, the fact that a substantive being was there could never be hidden.

A plan now in his mind, Harry crouched down low and moved around somewhat until he had the afternoon sun in his back when he looked at their four friends and, probably, Hermione. He took some of the dusty dirt from the ground, hoping it would not reveal his presence, and used some handy transfiguration to increase the amount by grinding down a small stone until he had a good handful available.

With one last, big breath Harry held his left hand filled with the dirt up in front of him and banished all the stuff in the direction of his friends. Just as expected, a large cone of powder enveloped the surprised group of children, but Harry had little eye for them, because there, right next to Tracey he could see what he had been gunning for: a hole left in the descending clouds that could not be accounted for by the children currently coughing from the dirt in the air.

"Gotcha," Harry chuckled, as the blue light of a stunner left his wand and impacted what seemed like thin air. The very same thin air then fell to the ground with a thud. Harry removed the disillusionment charm from himself, used a simple wind charm to blow away the grime still in the air and went to the place where he could see a small depression in the ground that fit Hermione's silhouette.

After removing her disillusionment charm as well, Harry revived the girl now lying in his arms to be greeted by a groan and a smile.

"Guess we're even now," Hermione chuckled weakly up at him.

"Why yes, yes we are," Harry laughed back as he set his girlfriend back to her feet, silently cursing himself for the moment of excessive tenderness with who was supposedly only his good friend.

"Harry, what on earth did you hit us with," a still teary-eyed Neville destroyed the silent moment, followed by some more coughing.

"Sorry Neville," Harry answered before pointing his finger at Hermione, "blame her; she just had to hide between you four and I could not think of another way to make her visible. Would paint have been any better?"

Neville grumbled a little, but in the end acquiesced and conceded that the dust was indeed better than being covered in transfigured paint from head to toe. The girls soon came to the conclusion as well, while the adults made their way down from the wall to join the group assembled on the courtyard.

"Impressive display, Mr. Potter; Ms. Granger," they were commended by Amelia Bones who had chosen to accompany her sister-in-law Mary and her niece to the castle from which the girl was supposed to leave for Hogwarts at the end of the break. "I was hesitant to condone underage use of magic inside my own family in the beginning, but I see now that you have it well in hand; with you-know-who still alive I suppose my niece has a lot to learn to not be in danger from those who would wish to harm me and my family."

Susan's mother Mary nodded approvingly, and the same sentiment seemed to be echoed on the faces of all the adults present, although no one's face outshone that of Sirius; obviously he had completely accepted his godson's convoluted stories and the reasons for his and Hermione's unusual skills and could now only think of the pranking possibilities. However, within all this Harry also saw a big opportunity to make some more changes that would better one of his friends in the long run, and it was in the proud smile on Augusta Longbottom's face.

"Neville," he turned toward the boy, "something's off about your casting, I think. It's not as precise as that of us others…"

Under the question, Neville seemed to shrink together while some of his long-established insecurities crept back up. "I guess I'm not that much of a wizard as you," he mumbled dejectedly.

Sirius, obviously picking up on where Harry was coming from after being told about Neville's pre-owned wand, took this exact moment to butt into the conversation. "I don't think so, Newville," he made his opinion known, "I've seen this before; the weak, imprecise casting and the used-looking wand belonging to a young wizard. That's a family wand, isn't it?"

Neville nodded numbly, while muttering something about 'honouring his father' as all the adults rounded on Augusta Longbottom. The one to voice their discomfit with the situation presented to them was, again, Amelia Bones. "Augusta, this is unacceptable," she declared in a tone that could comfortably be called laying down the law. "That boy needs his own wand that he can properly control; otherwise every other child in class with him is in danger of severe injury; sure, at the moment everything coming out of that wand might be weak, but that could change in an instant."

Several similar speeches, all delivered by adults whose family members regularly shared classes with Neville, left Augusta somewhat shame-facedly acknowledging that she would take Neville to get his own wand as soon as possible (meaning that very afternoon), after which she would deliver him back to Potter Castle.

Sensing an opportunity to employ the woman's shame-induced state of generosity, Harry suggested she go to Woodworm to get a custom wand for her grandson, just like the ones Harry and Hermione had; it would even allow him to let the wand take on the shape and look of his father's old wand, and it wasn't like the Longbottoms were strapped for cash.

The conversation soon blended over to goodbyes, some of them teary, between children and their corresponding adults who then left, leaving behind these very same children as well as their Hogwarts luggage.

Harry could feel it: a new school year at Hogwarts was approaching, and fast.

OOOOOOOO

It was the morning of September 1st, and the gang of four children, two young adults appearing to be children and one seriously winded Sirius was approaching King's Cross Station. The last few days had not been easy for the self-declared vital bachelor; next to still having to deal with having a time-traveller with a girlfriend as a godson, being free from prison (something he was still not entirely used to again) and his ongoing feud with Remus, he had had to deal with a bunch of small bundles of energy. As much as Sirius wanted to pretend to be, and in many ways still was, a child at heart, the years had taken their toll on him. Therefore, dealing with four children, as well as Harry and Hermione, whose energy reserves never seemed to be depleted had been seriously draining.

Sirius was a man (dog?) who liked a good lie-in, but with children in the house/castle, that was just never an option. When he had awoken the morning before, in dog form as it happened, he had been 'hounded' out of bed by an enthusiastic Tracey Davis who had expressed interest in his pranking days. The day before that, it had been Hannah who wanted to tap his extensive knowledge on human transfiguration to turn her hair other colours; being a responsible adult and turning her down had been hard, but he was not qualified to teach transfiguration, especially on that level. Also, the lecture about growing up he had received earlier during the break still rang in his ears.

Actually, the only one who had never disturbed him was Susan Bones; it was not like she had less energy than the others, just that the times where he could usually be disturbed, she was either asleep rather early, or up _really _early because she wanted to 'paint the sunrise'. Sirius did not really get the appeal of doing that, but if it kept him from being woken up, he did not much care.

The group moved through the barrier between magical and muggle world at around half past ten. Sirius had insisted on non-magical means of travel, because they were simply hilarious. Being extremely early for the train was another thing that had all of Sirius' instincts loudly screaming "Nooo!". Still, the pup and his girlfriend had insisted, and it would probably allow him to take a little nap before taking in a second breakfast.

OOOOOOOO

Harry followed his friends and girlfriend up the few steps into the train, shooting one last look back at his godfather; he was worried about Sirius being alone for too long. Even though he had seemed just fine after his godson's absence between Easter and the summer break, Harry could not help but feel a little guilty about leaving the man behind after he had just gotten used to human contact again.

"He's a big boy," Susan, who had turned around to look at why Harry was falling behind, said. "Mum and Auntie Amelia said they would try and get him out and about a little."

With nothing more being said she continued down the corridor toward the compartment Daphne was in; she had been as delighted to see the dark-haired Slytherin again as everyone else had. The plan for the ride was that they would communally share two compartments. Harry and Hermione's secret additional plan also called for on Luna Lovegood to somehow be enticed to join them.

For now, the groups were made up of Daphne, Tracey, Harry and Hermione in one compartment, everyone else in the other. Daphne was just enthusiastically greeting her friends when they spotted a little, lithe girl with willowy blonde hair standing in the door; no doubts, that was a young Luna.

Despite his intentions of immediately including Luna, her surprising appearance in their compartment startled him into silence.

"You're Harry Potter," Luna stated bluntly, looking at him with her large, open eyes. "My friend Ginny likes you a lot; I think she has an infestation of snarps. Maybe you can help her, she is starting to scare me."

Harry felt himself getting pinched by who he assumed was Hermione. Shaken from his stupor by the sudden pain, Harry gestured toward a free seat in the compartment for Luna to sit down on. "Why don't you join us…" he said, valiantly managing not calling her by her name.

"Luna," she answered almost giddily, before happily plopping down on the seat indicated to her.

"Nice to meet you, Luna," Harry responded, still feeling somewhat silly introducing himself to a good friend. "These are Hermione, Daphne and Tracey," he continued, pointing at each of the girls in turn who all smiled at Luna invitingly.

The new arrival just looked at the gathered group inquisitively, chuckled a little, looked at each of the girls for a few moments and then returned her gaze to Harry. "You have many girls as friends," she observed, "do you just get along with them better or are you planning a future harem?"

Next to Harry Hermione let out a loud mixture between snort, huff and a cough probably designed to cover the other two sounds. The other occupants of the compartment just looked at the young girl, baffled both by her knowledge (she just looked so _innocent_) and her bluntness.

"No, Luna," Harry responded hastily, "it just so happens I have more girls as friends. Our other guy friend is in the next compartment."

"Oh, okay; the boy with the toad?" Luna asked and, without waiting for an answer she went on, "just so you know, I wouldn't have a problem with that. Daddy always says you should be allowed to do what you want, as long as you don't hurt anyone else."

Momentarily flummoxed, although he was not really sure why exactly, as both of these pronunciations were perfectly in character for both Luna and her father, Harry nearly missed the stare, almost glare, Hermione was levelling at Luna.

"I really don't think that is for me," he rushed to reassure his secret girlfriend; so, Hermione did have a jealous streak, after all.

"Just as well," Luna declared, "I don't think Hermione would share you, anyway."

Now it was someone else's turn to develop a coughing fit and this time it fell upon Daphne, while Tracey just looked at them smugly, declaring, "I knew it." This display of surprisingly mature observational skills was then followed by an immediate reminder that she was still a child. "Harry and Hermione, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

"Was I not supposed to say that? I'm sorry!" Luna rushed out, obviously taking note of their somewhat distressed facial expressions. "I thought they'd have to know, because it was so obvious!" she apologized, all in the typically open, completely Luna style that meant Harry could not have managed to stay mad at her, even if he wanted to.

"No, you weren't," Harry groaned, while mentally preparing himself for the onslaught of questions about to befall him and his girlfriend.

Turned out he was right; the amount of questions was completely staggering, the amount of giggling and squealing even more. Most of the questions were answered by Hermione, because lying from the top of her hat was something she was way more adept at than Harry was. Certainly, telling the others they had been a couple for almost a year, had been since not long after they had both 'reacquired' their older personalities was no option.

As far as the others went, Harry and Hermione had been together since some time into her stay at Potter Castle, and they were leading a typical 'pre/early-pubescent' relationship with handholding and cheek-kissing. That particular revelation was followed by even more giggling and some good-natured ribbing Harry could not falter anyone for; Hermione just seemed radiant that finally someone at least knew she and Harry were a couple; thinking about it, so was Harry.

OOOOOOOO

Hermione's utter joy, the one which had followed her slight panic at Luna's revelation, had been replaced by annoyance. When the news somehow carried to Susan, Hannah and Neville (Hermione had the feeling she had Tracey to thank for that) she had been forcefully abducted by the girls. Sans Luna that was, since she seemed to have no interest in Hermione's love-life beyond revealing its mere existence to all her friends.

So, after leaving Harry behind assured in her assumption that he would use the time with both Luna and Neville to instil them with a sense of the need for secrecy they were dealing with here, the interrogation began; and while she had very much the same prerogative as her boyfriend, she had also then been forced to spend an unjustifiable amount of time telling very much the same things again.

Therefore, it was with some exasperation that she returned to Harry around noon, who promptly put an arm around her shoulders.

"Just be happy you have people you are some important to, they want to hear the exact same story twice," Harry whispered in her ear, obviously correctly reading both her state of mind as well as the reason for it.

OOOOOOOO

At Hogsmeade station the Hogwarts Express stood puffing out smoke and steam into the early sunset of the Scottish Highlands. The air was ripe with excited chattering coming from the throngs of pupils streaming toward the seemingly horseless carriages. Of course, to Harry they did not appear to be horseless; only this time, he was not afraid of the gentle beasts pulling them.

The group had let go of Luna at the doors of the train for her to follow Hagrid's exclamation of 'First years, to me!'. She had been very excited at the prospect of crossing the lake on the boats, something about hoping to speak with the merpeople.

Hermione, Susan, Hannah, Tracey, Daphne, Neville and Harry all piled together in one of the carriages, with Hermione primly placing herself on Harry's extended legs. This prompted some more snickering from most girls, a weird smile from Daphne and a raised eyebrow from Neville. He had been briefed on the same story as the others but, having spent a lot more time with the young couple, he had not seemed to buy it as easily as everyone else.

Inside the rattling coach, pulled by the never-tiring thestrals, they quickly made their way up the road to the gate, past the wrought-iron fence and to the steps of the school. They left the carriage behind and merrily meandered up the stairs into first the entrance and then the Great Hall, where they were greeted by the familiar, yet always again exciting view of a sea of black robes against the backdrop that was the setting of a Hogwarts feast.

Before long, everyone had taken a seat (that always went fast after the long train ride; children need their sustenance, after all) and all attention turned toward the old man in the weirdly chosen robes sitting on the golden throne. The man, Albus Dumbledore, chose that moment to rise from his position in a grandiose gesture, draping his royal crimson sleeves over his arms.

"Welcome back, returning students," he greeted the congregation before him. Harry noticed many people in the hall were looking at the wizard at the head table, but the looks were less awe-filled than what could have been expected; the events of the last year seemed to have taken their toll on the headmaster's reputation. "I do not believe we should keep our new members of the Hogwarts family waiting any longer," he twinkled at the gathered student body, "we would not want anybody to panic, thinking they had to wrestle a troll, now would we? Professor McGonagall, you may lead them in!"

With Dumbledore's announcement, accompanied by some laughter from certain pupils, the doors of the hall swung open, revealing the always stern-faced Minerva McGonagall. In her hands she had the little three-legged chair and the hat everyone who had ever been sorted at Hogwarts was intimately familiar with. She was followed by a line of around 80, maybe more, new first years whose faces showed around the same amount of awe and trepidation Harry could remember from his first time joining the other students in this particular hall.

As McGonagall sat down both chair and hat, the whole hall seemed to take a deep breath in anticipation of the hat's new song. The tension came to a climax as the old piece of headwear opened the slit along its brim and began declaiming.

_While I might look old and worn,_

_Like years and years, I have been borne,_

_An old and tattered rag I am,_

_Can wisdom give you? Yes, I can._

_Time after time, I sort you all,_

_As you join us in this hall._

_I put you in those houses few,_

_Remember that you're also you._

_Before you put me on my shelf,_

_Remember you unique, own self._

_Now, with darkest times ahead,_

_Remember that, with me on your head._

_For all extraordinary skills inside,_

_For every special thing you hide,_

_At one point everyone must choose,_

_What for that they want theirs to use._

_You could just be a Gryffindor,_

_Brave to the end and strong._

_Just do remember all along,_

_With more than pride, to fill your roar._

_Or Hufflepuff might be your fate,_

_If filled you are with justice._

_Patient, loyal, hard-working,_

_Careful though, not everyone will want your best._

_Quick-witted and wise Ravenclaw,_

_Could maybe draw you in._

_Just don't forget, all rational,_

_Thinking of humans, individuals, is not a sin._

_Lastly, perchance Slytherin,_

_Is the house I'll put you in._

_Guile and cunning, ruthlessness,_

_But if you're lucky, friendship boundless._

Stunned, the hall was slow to erupt into the raucous applause that usually greeted the hat's newest lyrical fabrication. However, in the end it came, although somewhat muted in comparison to the year before.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hy everyone,

Hope you like the new chapter, sorry it's been so long. I'm currently having to do some shifts (standard schedule for the nursing staff, unpaid) in the hospital that my Med-School curriculum requires of me; that really cuts into my writing time.

As for other news, I am once again looking for a new beta. Anyone interested, just pm me!

As always, thanks for every little piece of response I get for my story, each little bit is appreciated.

alexandertheII


	30. Chapter 30: Nightmares

**Chapter 30: Nightmares**

The hat was watching the varied reactions his latest song elicited among the student population; many were somewhat disturbed by him actually giving advice, while others looked outraged at him supposedly disparaging their houses.

Yes, the hat had debated what he wanted his newest creation to say, but in the end, he had landed on warning the houses of their own faults while reminding every single student they were individuals, defined not only by their houses or their families, but by themselves. The other possibility had been calling for unity, yet the hat had deemed that secondary for now. Since there was no acute danger from the Riddle boy at the moment, promoting a tenuous unity among the divided school could only lead to failure. Also, it was very important that these children learn to define themselves, not let themselves be defined, he decided.

After the ruckus had toned down a little, the McGonagall woman took out her list and started reading it off. It was the usual 'being put on heads to judge children's characters' thing he did every year, and he did it very well in fact, if he did say so himself. However, over the around one thousand years he had now been doing it, it had also grown rather stale. From time to time there would be a standout, but those were few and far between. Last year had held more than he usually had to look forward to in ten, making him wonder what this year would present him with.

"Lovegood, Luna," McGonagall announced, prompting a dreamy-eyed, little thing of a girl to step out of the group of firsties and meander lazily toward the chair. She was so small that the hat started wondering how far exactly he would fall down over this little thing's face, right as the McGonagall girl was already dropping him on her head.

"_Hello Mister Hat," _the girl greeted cheerily and without any of the usual hesitation he would experience when initiating the mental contact required for the sorting. _"I'm Luna."_

The hat chuckled silently, prompting the little blonde to follow in his example; what was remarkable though, was that she did it purely mentally as well. This one was starting to get intriguing. _"Hello Luna," _he greeted back, surprised at the structure of her mind that was unfolding before him. For the first time in over a thousand years, he had difficulty reading a new student.

Momentarily, he thought he could feel something akin to surprise or maybe even wonder, but the emotion quickly sank back down into the ocean of whirling thoughts that was the mind of one Luna Lovegood. _"Sorry, Mister Hat," _Luna piped up, _"I didn't realize there were four of you in there…" _

Now, the hat was really at a loss; sure, a gifted Legilimens could be able to look inside him and find the four fragments of consciousness each of the four founders had left behind inside his, for lack of a better word, head on each of their deathbeds'. However, that a child would instinctively know the same was as astonishing as what had happened the previous year.

"_No problem, child," _the hat reassured. _"Say, can you make it so I can enter your mind without being torn to shreds? I need to sort you."_

Confusion was bleeding off the girl in waves now, making the hat realize she had no idea how hard she was making it for him; it also told him she would have no idea how to turn it off.

"_Never mind, I sense you cannot do that," _he sighed, getting ready to do something he never much liked doing; offering her any choice of her liking without giving any advice. _"As I can't look for clues about who you are, you shall choose. Do so wisely!"_

"_Gryffindor, with Harry and Hermione," _Luna declared promptly, _"I'll have all the friends I've ever wanted."_

The hat allowed himself a last chuckle before declaring, _"What a Hufflepuff sentiment," _and shouting "GRYFFINDOR!" out into the hall.

Soon, the ocean of consciousness ebbed away, and the little girl was happily skipping down the stairs toward her new housemates, while the monotony that normally was the sorting resumed. That same monotony was only broken when another girl (the hat was happy to see she was the last to be sorted) with the flaming red hair of the Weasley family (really, how many children did they have?) raced up to him.

Before the hat knew what exactly was happening, meaning quite quickly considering he had been doing this for a long time now, he was on the head of the newest Weasley; the sensation was at once eerily similar and totally different from the one he had experienced with the Lovegood girl. Where Luna's mind had been a vast ocean of interconnected thoughts and feelings, each of them too insignificant in the sheer scope, this girl's mind was formed around a very dense core behind which everything kind of hid; she had a dangerous obsession, as much was clear. However, behind that there seemed to also be a looming darkness, not necessarily completely her own. The hat decided that caution was advised; some banter and a careful probing of her mind.

"_Hmm, yet another Weasley," _he regarded, feeling the annoyance rolling off of her in waves. _"Yet this one seems different than the others, beyond the obvious distinction." _As the feeling of annoyance was replaced by gradual curiosity, probably about how exactly she differed from her brothers, other than being the sister, the hat gently tried to dive past the wall of obsession inside this child's mind.

It was hard work, and had he had a body, the hat was sure he would be sweating buckets, but eventually he got somewhere. He was now sure that the darkness he had felt earlier was not coming from within the girl, at least mostly; sure, there was rage, jealousy, laziness and a few other less desirable traits but she was a child after all. Still, the darkness from outside was seemingly feeding on the darkness within, getting stronger by the minute.

"_So, do I go into Gryffindor with my Harry?" _the girl inquired, at once revealing the identity of her disturbing obsession to the hat who was now posed with a moral dilemma; if he put the child in Gryffindor he would be putting the very Potter boy he had sorted the year before at risk, someone he already knew was in a lot of risk regardless. Alas, that one was at risk anyway, if he took a word of what he had heard in the headmaster's office for the truth. On the flipside, it was said that obsession and hero-worship never survived reality. He wasn't quite sure whether he believed that (he remembered a few _very _crazy people from his long existence) but still, it was a chance. She certainly was courageous enough.

"_Remember, child," _he said in his most conciliatory voice, _"do get to know him, before you claim him as _yours_. That's all…"_

"GRYFFINDOR!"

OOOOOOOO

At the front of the hall, Albus Dumbledore was now rising from his throne-like sitting furniture, raising his hands for silence. In the ensuing stillness Harry had time to take in the teachers' table and noted a vacancy. Considering who else was in attendance, the vacant spot could only be intended for the Defence teacher, leading the young man to speculate who Dumbledore would have found for the position; the absence of a teacher reminded him of his original fourth year and Moody/Crouch's dramatic. On the other hand, the grizzled ex-Auror had not been swayed by Dumbledore easily the last time around. The other possibility was of course the bumbling fool Lockhart, although Harry sincerely hoped that was not the case; the wizarding world could not afford their children not learning to defend themselves at this critical point in time.

The usual crazy words of introduction by Dumbledore were followed by the usual grand appearance of the Hogwarts feast. Harry was happy to have Hermione and then Luna next to him, granting him some buffer to Ginny. He was wondering what exactly the Sorting Hat had been planning during his long stint on her head, but he could not help thinking it had something to do with not only Gryffindor, but also with him. Problem was, Harry had no idea what in the world the hat was planning now.

All in all, though, it was not that bad; looking around he could also make one more determination that really intrigued him: people were wearing his and Hermione's inventions. The most prominent one was the glasses they had designed (suddenly, a lot more people were wearing some), probably for the simple reason that they had been available for much longer than everything the company Sirius had founded on Harry's behalf could offer. Additionally, some of the more commonplace items Harry (without Hermione, something he was proud of) had designed simply had no place at the dinner-table; nobody needed a self-refilling, colour-changing fountain pen to eat.

Now that he was thinking about it, Harry was looking forward to the indignant owls and panicked students Dumbledore would probably have to deal with as soon as the children started playing around with the glasses' capabilities and the first few started using them during meals. Eventually, Harry would do his part to make everything more prominent by simply _using _the stuff. If he was cursed with fame he might as well use it.

"Your glasses seem to be selling well," Neville whispered from Harry's other side, the one where Hermione and Luna weren't sitting and chatting, "I don't exactly know what is going on with Daphne and her parents, but I'm guessing they don't deserve that kind of money."

Without any way of really commenting that, Harry just grunted noncommittally, shrugged his shoulders and continued eating.

Minutes later, many students were already done enjoying their main course and eagerly awaiting dessert, a panicked scream filled the air, followed by a student Harry did not know the name of at the Ravenclaw table jumping up and bounding out of the hall. She was wearing one of the pairs of glasses he had earlier identified as the ones Greengrass Elixirs had outfitted with the scanning enchantment. Harry could only guess Dumbledore's problems would start early this year with some letters from concerned parents.

OOOOOOOO

The common room was filled with a number of excited first years, Luna and Ginny among them. Hermione was watching the interaction between the two girls with interest, thinking about the implications of Ginny's placement in Gryffindor. She had watched Harry as the Sorting Hat declared his verdict and was rather sure he was not so sure, what to think of it; honestly, she did not either.

Granted, this Ginny was not the same one who had drugged and taken advantage of her boyfriend, even forcing him to comply; yet, there had to be something inside her even now that made it possible for her to become what she had the last time around. Hermione had no illusions about the character of the human condition, and she was aware Harry did not either: Humans were capable of anything and everything when their buttons were pushed correctly, but as far as she knew, Ginny had been a willing and eager accomplice. Her sources were admittedly scarce, although she had spent a lot of time with the younger girl.

In the end it all came down to finding out what exactly Ginny had known or already knew of any plans to 'ensnare' Harry for her and how her staying in Gryffindor could be considered beneficial for her development as a person; that was the reason she had been placed in the very house , as much was sure to Hermione. The Hat, however flawed the house system might be, had a keen insight and very much experience in reading and assessing people, so if he placed the girl with the object of her obsession, he had to have a reason for it.

"Missing teacher or crazy fangirl?" Harry's voice asked from behind her, prompting Hermione to turn around and look at her boyfriend.

She smiled at him slightly and answered, "Crazy fangirl; although, now that you bring it up, what do you think about the vacancy?"

Harry looked at her with indecision and somewhat annoyedly, before he gave a shrug and responded in a faux wise-old-man-voice, "The evil you know is always better than the one you don't." Cracked up by his own joke, or maybe the Dumbledore-ness of the expression, he continued, "I'd much rather know who we'll have to deal with, but it's not like the possibilities are endlessly bad; I don't think Umbridge will turn up and neither will Snape be assigned the post because that would already have been announced. So, either Lockhart shows up here with way too many of his own books, or it would be Moody, the real one at that. And that could actually be quite good."

It was at that moment that another possibility came up for Hermione. "Harry, with Lupin available, do you think Dumbledore would have tried to recruit him?" she posited in the same low voice they had been using since starting this particular conversation.

The face of Hermione's boyfriend took on a contemplative expression, betraying the whirring thoughts she knew were behind that very same face. "Hmm," Harry mused, "if that were the case, why shouldn't he be here, then? I thought the only reason Dumbledore did not dig him out sooner was that he was not available; now he's there, yet he's not here…"

This prompted some thinking on Hermione's part, until she remembered something Lupin had said in the very first conversation the two had had with the man in this timeline. "Didn't he say something about 'working on the continent' when we talked last year?" she reminded. "Maybe he went back."

Without any more information available to them, Hermione decided to let the very important question of their DADA teacher rest for some time while they enjoyed being back at school; sure, there would be trying times ahead (even more so than before) and they were once again in easy reach of Dumbledore's machinations, but they had a plan. Not an all-encompassing master plan, yet a plan, nonetheless.

More than could be said about their Horcrux hunt, and even that had somewhat succeeded.

OOOOOOOO

It was that very same night that Hermione, hidden under her boyfriend's cloak of invisibility, was sneaking down from the girls' second year dorms. Her objective, if it could even be called that, was rather simple at face value: Get Tom Riddle's diary without waking up anyone in the first years' dorm.

She was nearing the door to the dorm room Ginny and Luna shared with their classmates when she heard it the first time; a whimpering sound, so miserable she had difficulty suppressing a shudder. The young witch was unable to ascertain the identity of the one making the pitiable sound, alas she was sure it was coming from the other side of that doorway.

There it was again, slightly different this time.

Still silently, yet much more hurriedly, Hermione pushed open the door to find out who was having, she was sure, a terrible nightmare. The tidy dorm room was bathed in the silver light of the half-moon hanging far above the Scottish Highlands, so much brighter looking without any major cities around to diminish its glow.

In one of the six beds, Hermione could see the shiny, dirty blonde hair of her old/new friend Luna. The girl the hair belonged was obviously the one the sounds she had heard outside were coming from. From much closer her soft crying was even more heart-breaking. Disregarding the need for secrecy, Hermione slipped out from under the cloak and sat down on Luna's bed, putting a calming hand on the young girl's head.

"Mom, no…" Luna moaned, "Still need you…"

Hermione started stroking the waif's temple, prompting the girl cuddle her head into the palm of her hand, face and body relaxing and going back to deep sleep. That was the moment Hermione heard another person who was obviously having nightmares as well. In the peculiar lighting provided by the moon outside, Ginny Weasley's red mane of hair of hair took on an eerie quality. Her face looked pained, scared, almost panicked.

"No, Tom; please no," she begged, "I don't want to do that."

The girl watching her lye in the bed had no compunction about hating the redhead for what she had done; she also felt somewhat guilty for never having seen something going on, even advising Ginny how to act around her now boyfriend.

However, in that moment, hearing the girl's scared whimpers and pleas, Hermione's caring side went into overdrive; it no longer mattered that this was the person who could still/already had violated her Harry, or had set the basilisk on her. On an intellectual level, Hermione knew Ginny probably had not meant for the basilisk to attempt and kill her, yet some doubts lingered. Eventually though, in that moment, she was just a little girl, terrified and probably homesick.

Just like she had done with Luna, Hermione sat down on the edge of Ginny's bed and stroked the girl's temple. Unlike Luna however, Ginny did not immediately calm down; instead, she shot up, nearly hitting Hermione in the process. While the redhead was still processing what was going on, Hermione already had her wand out, pointing at the youngest Weasley and letting a weak stunner escape from the tip.

"I'm sorry, Ginny," she apologized silently and with another stroke of the girl's now completely relaxed face, "I know this you hasn't done anything yet, but nobody can know I was here."

Taking in a big breath of air to steel herself for what she knew she had to do and followed by a reluctant sigh, Hermione started rifling through Ginny's stuff, looking for the horcrux that had obviously already started to worm its way into the redhead's mind. It was not in the trunk or in the night table.

"Where would I hide my diary, if I were a little girl?" she whispered to herself, looking around the room. That was when her gaze fell upon the unconscious girl lying on her pillow. The soul shard would only increase the natural protectiveness, and what better way to keep the disgusting thing safe than to hide it under the very pillow that one slept on at night.

Counting on Ginny still being under the power of the stunner she had been hit with, Hermione slipped her hand under the pillow, only stopping herself in the last second; touching the horcrux might be a bad idea, she figured. One swish and flick later, the small book was laid bare on the mattress after its host had been lifted out of the way. Such an innocuous little thing for all the evil it could cause…

Another levitating charm moved the horcrux from the mattress into the containment box she and Harry had prepared for the occasion, laced with the strongest containment enchantments they had been able to find and come up with. With her task achieved, Hermione was now faced with a question she had up until now not been able to solve: What to do about Ginny's memories? On some level, Hermione already knew what exactly it was she had to do, for everyone's best.

"Obliviate," she whispered, diving into Ginny's mind and locating all the memories of the diary of Tom Marvolo Riddle, leaving behind only the nightmares; she could see these were already an integral part of the other girl. She just did not feel right erasing them, changing around Ginny's character.

"I'm really sorry," she sniffled, "I'm so, so sorry, Ginny."

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hi all,

A little shorter than usual, but it just felt right to end here. I was kind of not digging writing the whole bashy thing, so I turned around to still un-nice, but more believable Weasleys and Dumbledore.

Hope you can live with that and as always, leave reviews assiduously,

alexandertheII


	31. Chapter 31: Friend or Foe?

**Chapter 31: Friend or Foe?**

"Cease!" Maria MacGregor commanded the students assembled in the Hogwarts Great Hall. Immediately, the spellfire that had been enlightening the dimly lit room stopped, leaving behind just the echo of sounds the discharging wands had created during the first lesson of magical self-defence.

"Pitiful," she commented, "with what I have seen here, you would be unable to defend yourself even against a wet paper-towel." Turning a glare at almost the entire student body, she continued, "That might be excusable from the younger ones among you, but it certainly isn't for the older ones; everyone here knows Lord Voldemort is still alive, most of you have seen it," Maria whiled away the shudder passing through the crowd at hearing the 'dark lord's' name, "and you will have to be able to defend yourself."

In the back of her raptured audience, a girl of no more than 12 raised her arm. "What is it, dear?" she asked the wee thing.

"Mrs. MacGregor," the girl piped up, her voice surprisingly carrying in the emptied-out hall, "why do we have to learn this? I mean, we're just children, right?"

Maria closed her eyes and drew a steadying breath; she had known that question would come, and she had been prepared for it; sort of. Yet nothing could have prepared her for the reality of reliving her story at an innocent child's question.

"Because war," she declared steadily, "does not distinguish between who is child and who is adult, especially not if people like Voldemort are involved; at some point, each of you will have to choose, what side you want to be on, and whichever one you end up on, you will have to know how to defend yourselves."

An uneasy silence passed through the hall at her pronunciation; again, this was something she had been prepared for. Sure, she could have said something about this being 'good fun' and how it 'might come in handy at some point', yet she did not have it in her to lie to these people. She was not ready to tell her full story, either, but she would have to just give them a glimpse.

"I know this sounds frightening, but that is a good thing," she explained to obvious disbelief, "because war is something you should be frightened by; battle is not something to be taken lightly. It is violence, gore and death; it will scar you for life, whether you sustain any wounds or not."

Again, there was this eerie silence filling the hall and she was sure she had the undivided attention of the entire student population. "I don't mean to say you should roll over and let people have at you, but always, always keep in mind whether what you are fighting and killing for is worth it!"

A particularly troublesome first year she had identified earlier that week in her joint Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff class, a Ravenclaw if she wasn't mistaken took that moment to openly announce his, or rather his family's leanings. "The Dark Lord shall come for you after he is reborn, blood traitor bitch!" he screamed at her and made for the exit. For a young voice to be screaming such vitriol only made it more disturbing, something Maria could see mirrored on the faces of many of the children in front of her.

Now, another little girl raised her hand, this one in the front row and with long, dirty-blonde hair and a far-out expression. "Professor MacGregor, how do you know so much about war?" the girl asked, immediately pulling the new teacher into the memory of her first year Gryffindor/Slytherin class this very girl had attended.

Steeling herself with a few deep breaths, she started on at least part of her story. "I was born 1927 as Maria Neumann in Berlin, capital of the German Reich." In the audience, there was a clear distinction to be made between pupils of non-magical background and those of purely magical heritage, by the way they reacted to her revelation; clearly, those who had spent time in the muggle education system had an inkling of an idea where this story was leading. "Back then the magical and non-magical communities in Germany were much more closely intertwined, and remain so until today, than the ones in Britain." Reacting to the astonished looks of some of her listeners, she assured, "Muggles don't know about magic, of course, but there is less of a divide between the two worlds. Instead of two completely separate societies, it is one single society where the magical part is just well hidden."

Looking for, and finding, a good example to make her point, she went on, "For example, while in Britain there is Diagon Alley, in Germany you usually find single magic shops hidden between the mundane ones; it also means, children from all magical families attend public education until they attend an 'exclusive boarding school'."

The surprise at her revelations was palpable, leaving her again to thing Hogwarts would _really _benefit from not only a revamp of the history courses, but also from some geography as well; of course, giving people perspective on other societies might make them question their own ones, something the purebloods definitely would not espouse. "Needless to say, I grew up during turbulent times, between two world wars," the still very healthy, if old witch said morosely. "In 1933, when I was five, Adolf Hitler, a man in ideology close to both Grindelwald and Voldemort rose to power in Germany, using long-simmering resentment and weaknesses inherent in the political system to his advantage; within months, he started consolidating himself as a dictator while the masses either cheered him on or were silent."

The silence she had caused seemed to stretch out into the darkness of the night in front of the windows. _"Good," _she mused, _"now I can be sure they're really listening._"

"Within years," Maria now explained further, "this man and his followers managed to turn my home into a military dictatorship that nearly brought all of Europe to heel, while the rest of the world sat by, doodling around with half-hearted measures. They chose to conveniently look away while innocent people were persecuted, while the silent masses in my country enabled him to prepare to wage war and destruction."

With one last, powerful look (at least she hoped so), Maria declared, "So, if you don't agree with someone in a world where everyone is wielding a potentially lethal weapon, and when that someone is ready and eager to use that weapon, you need to know how to fight. Dismissed!"

OOOOOOOO

Still shaken from the powerful, if disturbing, testimony by their new teacher, Harry was sitting in the Gryffindor common room, staring into the distance. Having gone to the self-defence class simply to find out what his schoolmates would soon be taught by the new professor, he had not expected to be treated to a story of dictatorship. Of course, she had not said that much, just some basic facts really, but the tone in which it had been delivered told him there was more to her than what they had heard. MacGregor had not touched on how she had come to be teaching defence in Britain, in fact she had not even told them how she came to be called MacGregor instead of Neumann. However, asking would have seemed very inappropriate.

The professor had shown up two days into the school year, interrupting the evening meal in a very Moody-esque fashion. Her stated reason for her lateness had been forced absence due to a prescheduled 'research trip', and even though he had no real reason to, Harry had the feeling that was again not the whole story. With a light chuckle, Harry remembered the first lesson of the new addition to the staff he had witnessed.

"This is Defence Against the Dark Arts," she had greeted them brusquely, walking up to the blackboard and putting down her name in neat, meticulous script. "As a topic, this is one of the more important, and as a class one of the more dangerous ones you will attend here, if taught properly."

At that moment, a bang had erupted from her wand, startling into attention both Dean and Seamus, who had been talking silently in the last row of seats. "And if you do not intend to listen," she snarled, now looking directly at the two boys in the back of the class, "please leave, unless you want to be made to leave."

Now sufficiently cowed, the group of second year students had descended into an uneasy silence, as they awaited what exactly their new instructor had planned for them. "As you are just in the second year of your magical education, you will not be taught the full extent of magical combat my NEWT courses will experience; instead, we will spend one semester dealing with creatures and one semester with what magicals can do to each other."

Following that declaration, she had set them to work on researching common dark creatures as, Harry was just assuming by that point, a way to ease them into proper DADA instruction. At the end of the session she had informed them of her 'Magical Self-Defence' course, which was to incorporate and expand upon all the practical aspects touched upon only theoretically during her courses.

With what he had seen up until now, Harry was sold on her style, with her content still up for judgement.

"Hey Harry," Neville greeted as he sat down next to his friend in an overstuffed padded armchair, where he proceeded to simply stare at the fireplace, lost in his own thoughts.

"Neville," Harry said, receiving no reaction. "Hey, Neville."

Hearing his friend's voice for the second time seemed to shake Neville out of his stupor; he shook his head as if to come out of a daze and looked at Harry. "That was something else, wasn't it?" he asked, still obviously somewhat stunned. "I guess I never really realized that Voldemort still being alive meant another war. Kind of stupid, right…"

Harry shook his head sadly and looked back at Neville with what he hoped was a lot of sincerity. "Not stupid at all," he declared dismally, "it's just not something school children should be concerned with. But he did not hold back on children and families the last time, and he will not this time…"

Suddenly, Neville looked into Harry's eyes with shock etched on his face. "I'm so sorry man, of course you'd know that," he rushed out, looking apologetically. The only thing he received in return was a look that conveyed both annoyance and more of the same sadness Harry had shown earlier.

"Thanks, Neville," he answered, "but I'm not the only one to suffer from Voldemort and his miscreants."

With that happy note and disregarding any further interaction with other people for the evening, Harry turned toward the stairs and went to bed early.

OOOOOOOO

Hermione, along her boyfriend and her boyfriend's elf (Hermione still shuddered at the thought of that last one) were assembled in the Room of Requirement after curfew Saturday night. They were gathered around a somewhat weird assortment of items, comprised of a warded box, an ugly tiara and a big, incredibly mean-looking tooth. Steward, head elf of Potter Castle, had been called in to help with the disposal of the two horcruxes and, since the last one they had destroyed had somewhat disregarded Kreacher as a danger, would hopefully be a huge advantage. Should either Harry or Hermione do something unexpected, he had the standing order to immediately get them out.

With a steadying breath, Hermione looked at the dragonhide gloves she was being presented with by Harry; he had just summarily declared it was her time to shine. He had further explained it would be a great thing if she, Hermione, were to destroy the very thing that had once nearly led to her being killed, namely the diary.

On most all levels, Hermione agreed wholeheartedly, but on a few, she was also terrified of the thing; this had almost ended her whole life, before she had even had the time to properly enjoy it.

"Come on," Harry prodded encouragingly, "you know you can do it, and it will feel great!"

With a huff aimed at the cursed book still in the box, Hermione took the gloves out of Harry's hands, slid the highly resistant hide over her fingers and grabbed the tooth.

Without any more preamble, she raised the fang and let it crash down upon first the box with the diary, which was quickly followed by the diadem; as the tooth hit the headband, it shattered into a myriad little pieces, all of them luckily missing both the young couple and the house elf standing around the stone block holding the wretched creations. Both horcruxes were now screaming in unison, yet dissonance, and their cries combined, forcing both Harry and Hermione to drop to their knees and hold their ears. Hermione felt a kind of shadow pass over her, not what she had felt when Riddle's spirit had fled the remains of Professor Quirrell, only more distant, like an echo, and it was over.

In short order, they left the room, but as Hermione started leading toward Gryffindor Tower, she felt Harry tug at her arm and giving her one of his 'trust me' looks. She looked at him a little accusingly, wordlessly communicating to him "Okay, I' trust you; don't make me regret it!". With determined steps, Harry passed in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy three times, before grabbing her hand and pulling her back in behind him.

The room he had envisioned for them was obviously recreated from a memory, and it was one of her better ones; the little suite was held in earth tones with a homey feel, and it was the perfect replica of Harry's bedroom in Longbottom Manor. This was a copy of the room Hermione had first slept in Harry's embrace. As a way of thanking him for his thoughtfulness she first threw her arms around him for an intensive cuddle, before giving him small kiss. However, even though she would definitely have been up to more of that, her and her boyfriend's tiredness soon overwhelmed the couple and they drifted off to sleep holding each other close.

OOOOOOOO

In the first-year girl dorm of Gryffindor Tower, Luna Lovegood was awoken from her restless sleep by a small scream. Bleary-eyed, the little blonde took a look around the room, only to find that the source of the noise had been the bed next to her. One of the, if not the only childhood friend she had ever had was lying in her bed, thrashing around in a fitful nightmare that seemed to be gripping her tightly.

In a rush, Luna was on her feet and next to her friend who was now mumbling incoherently in her sleep. The girl was still shuddering wildly, and her speaking got somewhat clearer. "No…" she murmured, "stay away from him… don't hurt him…"

Luna had no idea who Ginny was talking about with the him, there were so many 'hes' she could mean in her life; after all, she had six older brothers, and though she would not assume for Ginny to be particularly worried about Ron, the others were very much a possibility. Of course, there was also the disturbing possibility of Harry, whom she liked to a disturbing degree, despite only having met him a few times at which she always was unable to talk.

"Don't hurt…" Ginny continued her mumbling," Tom… no…"

Now who was this Tom guy? _"Very mysterious indeed,"_ Luna thought to herself as she continued to look at Ginny lying there; she had first contemplated waking her friend, but now she was getting the feeling that would probably be impossible. Also, she thought it was somehow important she went through this.

Suddenly, Ginny went completely rigid beneath her blankets and her eyes flew open, only showing the white of her sclerae. In that very moment, Luna could feel a shadow cross over the room that took some of the darkness already inside with it, and when she returned her eyes toward the redhead in the bed, she was finally sleeping restfully.

With a large smile now etched on her face, Luna returned to her own, still warm cocoon of comforter and fell asleep happily.

OOOOOOOO

In a dark somewhere in continental Europe, a shadow was interrupted in his hunt for a host body by a weird feeling. Although, it was less of a feeling and more of an instinct, or maybe premonition.

Whatever it was, and Lord Voldemort, greatest wizard of all time was not keen on philosophically debating whether a disembodied spectre even had something like feelings and, if not, whatever else it had been, it was unsettling. For some reason, from one moment to the other he felt even less substantial than he usually did, less tethered to the half-life he was currently suffering through.

He decided to pay it no mind for the moment, as his current state was not exactly what could be called stable anyway but vowed to return to it once he had been restored to greatness and a new body. For now, though, he had spotted a small snake with a zig-zag pattern on her back and piercing, orange-red eyes. Not large, but he would have to make do with it.

OOOOOOOO

"Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, please stay behind," Professor MacGregor announced to the students at the end of the second-year defence class, prompting some snickers among their classmates (particularly the ones with the green-trimmed robes). Hermione, for that matter, was calmer than she ever would have been in her first run through school, when being held back by a teacher.

Together with Harry, she ambled to the front of the room, before the teacher's desk and waited for what was to come. Next to her, her boyfriend seemed to be doing much the same.

With a discerning look to her, their new instructor turned her attention from the papers in front of her to the two people now standing in front of her.

"I would very much like to know, why the both of you are holding back in my classes," she asked the two students, taking Hermione completely by surprise. She and Harry had perfected their routine of downplaying over the previous year, or so she thought.

"_Better to play it cool and find out, how much she actually suspects,"_ Hermione thought and looked at the teacher now in front of her. "I don't know exactly what you mean, professor," she stated, and it was even rather close to the truth; she actually _did _not know exactly what the professor was saying.

Hermione was regarded with a calculating look and somewhat pinched eyes. "I know the two of you are not giving me all you have, yet you seem to be way ahead of this class. And don't even think about trying to lie to me again," she declared matter-of-factly. "Also, I would advise you not to let too many people know that you each have more than one wand."

Now completely flabbergasted, Hermione just stared at the teacher with an open mouth, and somehow, she knew that next to her, Harry was not faring much better.

"So, tell me," MacGregor asked and leaned back in her chair calmly, "how advanced exactly are you?" When she did not receive an answer, she continued, "I could of course always inquire with the proper channels to advance you a year; you seem like you would be quite able to handle that, and maybe then we would be able to see how far your skills have grown…"

At that moment, Hermione had had enough of this _teacher_ insinuating things and threatening them with that annoyingly calm tone. "I don't know what you're talking about exactly," she replied angrily, "and what you actually expect from us here. Are we breaking any rules, or underperforming in your class?"

"You are not," the professor answered calmly, "but I have learned to be wary of anyone making a fool of the world." Now she was leaning forward in her high-backed chair again, looking first Hermione and then Harry, who was still silently standing next to his girlfriend, in the eyes. "So, tell me, Ms. Granger, do I have reason to be wary?"

The intensity in MacGregor's gaze was starting to become really unnerving. Once more, Hermione was thankful for her training in occlumency, just for the fact that she now could be sure she was not being mentally probed by those disconcerting eyes.

"But, we're just kids," Harry tried to derail the interrogation, an attempt that was only scoffed at.

"I've seen enough in my life to know when someone is old beyond their years. You Mr. Potter, are old beyond your years," was the declaration he received in return. "Also, I have seen mere children do horrible things before."

Hermione could actually hear Harry audibly gulp now. On the positive side, the interruption had given her enough time to think of a lie that might actually be believable. "Professor, as we've learned last year, Voldemort is still very much alive," Hermione started, almost quivering under the intense gaze of their teacher, at the same time noting her lack of reaction to Riddle's self-chosen name again, "so we spent some time planning with Harry's godfather on how to keep him safe. Showing the whole world what we could do was not part of that plan."

Hermione got another discerning look, but the professor seemed to decide to accept the explanation. At least for now.

"See to it that your ruse does not go as far as it would mean to actually fall behind," she simply ordered.

OOOOOOOO

"Whew, that was intense," Harry determined as he and Hermione fell on the sofa the Room of Requirement had provided them with. "Think she bought that?"

"I wouldn't count on it," his girlfriend answered, just as she cuddled her head onto his shoulder. "I guess she just felt it was close enough to the truth that she could let it pass. What I'd really like to know is how ever she knew in the first place…"

Harry hummed in thought as a response, making Hermione tingle funnily with the vibrations passing from Harry to her. "And what did she mean by saying she had seen 'mere children do horrible things before'?"

"No idea," Hermione answered, all the while snuggling in deeper to relax from the shock. "At least I don't think she wants to do us any bad. We'll just have to keep an eye on her until we know more…"

With that, Harry heard Hermione's tiny little snores as she succumbed to a little nap calling for her.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hi all,

I bet you would love to know more about that new professor, right? You shall, with time. As always, please enjoy my story and leave a review, either helpful or nice.

Greetings to you, all over the world,

alexandertheII


	32. Chapter 32: Creations

**Chapter 32: Creations**

"That teacher is scary!" Neville proclaimed as he joined Harry, who was doing his homework on the table in their dorm-room. "I mean, seriously, the way she talks about war and stuff…" he said somewhat disbelievingly.

Harry turned a long, searching look at Neville, suddenly struck by inspiration for a very particular question. "Neville, what do you know about the World Wars?" The only reply he received was a shrug, paired with a somewhat fearful expression. "If she was born in 1927, she would have been old enough to consciously witness a war that killed so many millions, maybe she even fought, without ever being afforded the ability to object to that." Harry gave Neville a sad smile he suspected was more of a grimace than anything else. "So, yes, she probably knows what she's talking about."

After a few moments of thought, and seemingly eager to change the subject to a lighter topic, Neville shifted his attention to the contraption Harry was currently doing his homework with. "What in Merlin's name is that?" he inquired, making Harry chuckle a little. He had been waiting for a question like this for quite some time, although he would have expected it from some of the Ravenclaws he shared classes with.

"That, my friend," Harry began and grinned broadly, "is the Potter Pen. We don't call it that openly, because it is a 'Black' product. Since you already know how good Hermione and I are at enchanting stuff, you're allowed to know."

He handed the contraption over to his friend and began to describe its properties in the process. "This here," he started, "is the colour-picker. You need a small sample of the ink you want to use for writing, you dip the tip into the ink and the enchantments on the pen will reproduce that very ink as long as it has the necessary energy to do so."

To further clarify the process, Harry pulled out the colour-kit the pen came with (in the deluxe edition, only) and chose a deep, blood-red vial from the assorted colours it provided. "See, because the pen does not actually _use _any ink, you can take really small amounts. Now tipped ink-jars will never again be a reason for not turning in homework. Also, you can take ridiculous amounts of different colours with you in the same space you would normally have to use for just one."

With the enchanted piece of stationery now in his hand, Neville dipped the tip carefully into the red vial Harry had opened for him, pushed the little button at the end opposite to the tip and pulled the pen out again. He took an old piece of parchment from his bag, which was standing next to the chair, and put pen to parchment with a ridiculously happy expression. If Harry had to guess, the still somewhat clumsy boy was ecstatic at the prospect of not having to use the accident-prone combination of ink-jar and quill again.

"That's so great," Neville proclaimed, looking joyfully at the clean and very readable lines he had just produced. "How does it work?"

Harry smiled mirthfully, before giving a shrug and saying, "Sorry, company secret. What I can tell you, though, is that it draws the energy it needs for the enchantments to work directly from the magical person using it at the moment. So, if a muggle got his hands on this, they would be unable to get it going. That way there was no problem with the laws banning the enchanting of muggle artefacts."

Neville still looked at the pen in some awe, prompting Harry to laugh at the picture and declare, "Seems I found a good Christmas present for you, doesn't it? Don't worry, I'll get you a cool prototype."

"Speaking of presents, you have one for Hermione yet?" Neville asked, looking at Harry inquisitively. "Her party is this Friday."

"Oh, don't you worry about that, my friend."

OOOOOOOO

"Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter, please stay behind," Professor MacGregor called her two students at the end of the session, eliciting two worried looks on the children's faces. "There's no need to be worried," she calmed the two as they reached the spot before her desk, which they had occupied the last time she had talked to them like this. "I realise I might have been a little… harsh, the last time we spoke. So, first of all, congratulations Ms. Granger."

The girl looked at her almost flattered, even though there was definitely an air of suspicion still about her. _"Wouldn't expect otherwise," _the teacher mused, and she could hard believe it herself, proudly. "From what I've seen, you're not falling behind, despite your charade."

Now looking at the boy, Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, however one chose to call him, she saw the same suspicion, just minus the slight flattery. She did not buy into all the rumours circulating about the boy, of course; he had only been a little child at the moment Voldemort had vanished, so there had to be more at play there. Also, she had tried following the trail of the supposed 'fact' that he had survived the killing curse. The special edition of the _Evening Prophet _on Halloween 1981 had been the first place she could find to make that claim, and they had not cited any source.

To her it all seemed far-fetched at best, while an outright lie forged with ill-intent at worst.

"Thank you, professor," the girl said evenly, still with that suspicious air about her. Clearly, Maria had made a lasting impression on her the last time, something that was now coming back to bite her. Despite her gruff appearance, she only had these children's best in mind, if she did think so herself. At this moment, that meant she would have to earn their trust so they would accept the help she had to offer.

"I would like to offer you a level playing field, because I think we have similar goals," she began her prepared statement, only to be quickly interrupted by Harry.

"Then please allow me to directly use that 'level playing field', as you say," the boy coolly drove in between her sentences, "to ask you something. What exactly _are _those goals for you?"

This managed to actually throw her off-course. "Pardon me?" she questioned the two, who were now looking at her intently.

"Well' everyone can say they share _your _goals, and as long as they never say what these are, it's hard to prove them wrong, as long as their actions don't make it abundantly clear, wouldn't you agree?"

If it had not been up to this point, Harry had now given away something important about at least himself, and probably about the girl who seemed to be his second half: they were more mature than their years should allow. Worst of all, he was not completely wrong with his assessment; vague formulations left some wiggle-room later on.

"Point taken," she allowed, "I will spell it out; I want Tom Riddle dead, and from what I know about him, he will come after you again. He can't tolerate slights against his person, something that, in his mind, you will have perpetrated twice now."

Harry looked at her, as if telling her to go on, so she did. "Seeing as I am your teacher as well as uniquely motivated to see that abomination dead, I want to offer you my help."

In a tiny movement the two students before her seemed to have an entire conversation, after which Ms. Granger took over talking to her. "That might be all fair and good," she began, "but how do you know Tom Riddle will come after Harry again? Or that he's even named Tom Riddle, originally?"

"Because he is a self-centred narcissist, and the world thinks Harry here beat him," she explained, although she had the feeling, she was not telling these two anything new. "As for his history, I have my sources, which I truly can't divulge, due to promises and assurances made."

Another one of those moments, in which the two seemed to be having a silent conversation, followed. "We'll think about it," Harry declared. "What exactly would that help entail that you are willing to offer?"

"Everything I think will be helpful to you when Riddle comes for you, be it magical training or information," she offered to discerning looks.

"Very well, as I said, we'll think about it," Harry stated with an air of finality. "Now please excuse us, Professor, but we have a birthday party to attend."

OOOOOOOO

"You know you really didn't have to, right?" Hermione declared, although her words were somewhat offset by the fact that she was literally _dragging _Harry along toward the seventh-floor corridor that held the Room of Requirement.

He just laughed at her, though in a charming, non-offensive way, and quickened his pace to keep up with her fervour. "I know that, but everyone wanted to. Did you know I got letters before the beginning of the school year, asking whether we would have another party?"

Hermione felt herself blush at this; she still wasn't completely used to having many friends, let alone a boyfriend like Harry. After all, she was a bossy bookworm who, despite Harry's assurances of the opposite, was quite cognizant of the fact that she was no beauty either.

"But you kept to our 'no presents' rule, right?" she inquired suspiciously. At this point, she did not even _want _gifts from him anymore; while it had started off as a simple, logical choice, because they had no idea what to give each other and remain inconspicuous, it had somehow graduated to become an integral part of their relationship.

In response to her question, Harry just raised his hand and looked at her innocently. "I absolutely did not, except planning the party of course," he maintained. "There will be some instances over the years where I will not be dissuaded from doing that, but it will be for good reasons."

Suddenly stopping in mid jog, Hermione turned to look around the, thankfully abandoned, corridors and stopped her boyfriend with a hand on his chest. "I can live with that, I suppose," she replied. "Now, whoever's there first is the birthday girl." With a quick, if heated, peck to the lips she left Harry behind and darted to her party.

The group she found coming into the room, she was indeed at least half a minute earlier than Harry, further solidifying her claim to the title of birthday girl, was a more intimate affair than the one the previous year had been. Only their circle of friends was there, which was perfectly fine for Hermione. Even though both her and Harry were much more confident than they had ever been before, big crowds would probably never be their thing.

Still, even the circle of their friends included quite a few people by now, as became abundantly clear during the gift-giving Harry had planned as a very innocent rendition of 'spin-the-bottle'. There was Susan's gift, a gorgeous piece of art depicting the view of Potter Castle in the rising sun. With that, two things became abundantly clear: Firstly, Susan had remembered how much praise Hermione had heaped on her artwork. Secondly, the reason for her many early mornings during her stay at Harry's.

Then there was Neville, who had obviously acquired help from his grandmother in procuring a present 'fit for a young Lady', as Hermione could almost _hear _Augusta say. "I wasn't sure you'd like it," Neville commented the magic personal hygiene kit Hermione had just opened, "My gran just insisted 'every young witch should have one of these'." Hermione was not completely sure whether she liked this, in her mind, rather girly present, but she did not have it in herself to break Neville's heart. Therefore, she just hugged her friend, thinking the charmed brush and combs would at least be helpful in reining in her uncontrollable mane of curls.

The next one was Daphne who, to Hermione's utter horror looked extremely sad. "I'm sorry I couldn't get you anymore," the dark-haired girl said apologetically, "my parents would not allow me to get you a present, so I had to take something I already had; this is a rare tome on potions from our library; we have more than one, so no one will notice it's missing." Without preamble, Hermione stepped over to her friend and engulfed her in the kind of crushing hug Harry would normally receive from her.

"We'll have a girl-chat soon," she whispered into Daphne's ear as she was retreating, "so you can tell me, what was going one during the break, alright?" With an expression showing both hope and trepidation, Daphne nodded her assent and spun the bottle again.

One after the other, gifts were given and received, from Tracey's foreseeable yet very much appreciated abundance of sweets, over Hannah's book titled 'Beautification for the Young Witch', which Hermione just about managed to politely smile at, unto the last remaining guest.

Luna's large, dreamy eyes turned to Hermione, who promptly went to ensure their 'new' friend that, due to the novelty of their friendship, she was absolutely not expecting a gift from her.

"That is okay, Hermione," Luna said in her usual, slightly absent voice. "I made you something anyway; you're very lucky I had them with me in the first place, because I wanted to help everyone in the school who might be infected." Out of her bag she pulled a pair of the very same earrings Hermione had seen her wear in the old timeline, dirigible plum if she remembered correctly.

"Thank you, Luna," she said from the bottom of her heart and over the slight snickers of some of their other friends. "They're… lovely."

"Oh great," Luna exclaimed, "they're not even meant to be, you know? They're there to repel nargles."

With a surreptitious glance to her amused boyfriend, which he repaid with a proud look at her composure faced with Luna's endearing weirdness, she put the earrings in the bag she had brought with her. "Well, then thank you for that," she told the youngest member of their group, "In that case, I better put them away safely, so they'll be right there whenever there's an infestation of nargles."

"Yay," Luna just responded, only to again return to looking a everyone seated in the room with her wide, pale eyes, looking completely stumped as to why exactly people were snickering.

OOOOOOOO

Harry was just leading the way out of the Room of Requirement, closely followed by his girlfriend, as he felt her tug at the back of his clothes.

"Harry, wait a moment," she said quietly. He turned around and raised an eyebrow at her. The universally acclaimed sign of 'what is it?'.

"Actually, I think I would like a present from you, after all," she murmured, stepping closer to him. "It's been so long since we've had the opportunity, and I would like for us to sleep in one bed tonight."

With her pouty look directed at him and a chance for a whole night of cuddling presenting itself, Harry had little choice but to accept, and eagerly so. "I like that," he answered, only to promptly begin pacing in front of the blank strip of wall where the door to their party venue had just vanished. Only moments later, there was a small, single door that admitted them into a small circular room with a large four poster and a crackling fireplace.

"Nice one," he was complimented by Hermione who had stepped through the doors before him and was now taking in the room. When Harry entered completely as well, he spied the requested bathroom as well. "I'll take the bathroom first, if I know the room, there'll be some nightclothes in there."

Some fifteen minutes later, both Harry and Hermione were cuddled up under the blanket, with Hermione pressed up to Harry's side; it was still all quite chaste, the way they were attired.

"You know what I find interesting?" he asked the girl sidled up to him, "How come we like all these somewhat childish things, like this birthday party?"

On his chest, Hermione hummed, sending vibrations all through his body. "Well, we did grow up awfully quickly, didn't we?" Hermione theorised, "Maybe we have some things to catch up on."

Taking some time to think about Hermione's idea, Harry realised it was actually not that far-fetched. "Possible," he commented.

Some more minutes passed before anyone spoke again, so content were they for the moment to hold each other close; it had really been too long since they had been able to do that.

It was Hermione who asked the next question, already sounding extremely sleepy. "Harry?"

"Yes?" he answered, likely just confirming he was still awake.

"Do you think I'm beautiful?" Hermione aske in a small voice, sounding very unsure of herself. Harry was stumped; this was a very un-Hermione-like question to ask. Her appearance was normally something she did not dwell on. Sure, she had never really liked her overbite and struggled to control her bushy hair, but beyond that she had always seemed very disinterested in that kind of talk.

"To me you are," he said truthfully, eliciting a small smile from her that he felt her make against his chest.

"But I'm short, and bucktoothed," she protested a little too vehemently for Harry's liking, "and even when I was older, I didn't have much… you know, _breasts_. Also, my hair is a complete mess!"

Harry pulled his girlfriend close to him, thinking his only way to go here was complete and utter disclosure. "Well, to me you are beautiful," he stated with conviction. "You were never the 'walk-in-a-club-and-every-man-falls-over-themselves' type, you know that."

At this, Hermione raised her head and glared at him a little, making it abundantly clear that Harry would have to explain that statement some more. "Come on, you know that as well as I do, but you always _fit, _you know? Your hair was messy, but that was just _you_! You were never a Lavender, you know that, but if you spent as much time on getting ready in the morning as I think she does, maybe you would look the same and everyone would someday start ogling you. Just think how insanely jealous that would make your poor boyfriend."

This actually made Hermione chuckle a little, so Harry decided to power through. "Plus, you know that when you really work it, you _are _a head-turner; I'll just say Yule Ball. And also, not every man fixates on huge breasts, thank you very much."

Now he had actually managed to make Hermione giggle, which was no small feat under any circumstance and given the situation, Harry patted himself on the shoulder for this one. "Thank you, Harry."

"No problem, sweetie," Harry replied. "What brought this on?" he inquired of his girlfriend, whose breathing was now already evening out as she descended towards sleep.

"Oh, just the presents I got today," Hermione answered, her eyes already _audibly _drooping, if something like that was possible, "that 'personal hygiene kit' and the book, just made me a little self-conscious, that's all."

She had hardly spoken the last syllable that Harry felt her completely relax, without loosening her grip on him though, and he knew she was asleep. Within minutes, and even that amount of time was way too much for Harry's tastes, but he had to organise some things with Fips, sleep claimed him as well.

OOOOOOOO

Hermione awoke the next morning feeling refreshed.

It lasted for a moment, then the feeling of being refreshed was replaced by the feeling of being panicked. From the view out of the window she could clearly see it was way into the morning, and for her and Harry to be discovered missing together would shed light on a situation they did not want light to be shed upon.

"Harry," she shook her boyfriend's shoulder gently; she might have been somewhat panicky, but he had been so sweet the previous evening, waking him rudely just would not do. "Sweetheart, you have to get up and we need to get back into our own beds."

Harry just grumbled a little and turned to be able to look at her. "No worries," he said soothingly, if somewhat sleep addled. "I asked Fips to fix up our beds so it would look like we were there. We'll just tell everyone we got up real early and took a stroll over the grounds; no problem."

With her worries now placated, Hermione snuggled back up against Harry's warm chest, feeling his heartbeat. It was an incredibly soothing feeling, the movement of his lungs and the beating of his heart. To think she had almost lost that when Harry had been ready to die at Voldemort's hand and by Dumbledore's design was a sobering thought.

"Thank you for what you did yesterday," she said with a small, contemplative voice, all the while still intently aware of the life-signs next to her.

"You're very welcome," he answered happily, and she had no trouble believing he very much meant what he was saying. "I think everyone really enjoyed the party."

"That's not what I meant," she replied, contentedly, "at least not everything. I meant what you said just before I fell asleep. And you're right, I don't want to be like Lavender, or Hannah. There's nothing wrong with that, but it's just not me."

OOOOOOOO

"How are you coming along with the new enchantments?" Harry inquired as he entered the separate workspace Hermione occupied in the Room of Requirement. Their ploy to hide their sleeping there together had worked flawlessly, and not much later they had returned there to continue working on interesting new things to enchant.

"Not bad, not bad," Hermione mumbled in response, completely concentrated on the worksheets spread out before her, holding circular arrangements of the same runic sequences their glasses were equipped with. "Contact lenses are just a bit different from glasses, that's all. What we've adapted so far _works, _but I think it could be even better."

Following their short interaction, Harry just spent some time watching his girlfriend work; it was really very comforting, and also allowed his mind to wander a bit. It quickly came upon a problem he had stumbled on before.

"Hermione, I think too many people know about the Room of Requirement by now," he proclaimed, completely aware he was stating a fact his girlfriend was probably already very aware of.

"I know," she answered, now swivelling the wooden chair she was sitting on around to face him. "Thing is, I really don't think there's a way in which we can impact the number of people in the know; I have no intention of memory-charming our friends."

Harry smirked a little, something he found himself doing more and more these days; usually it was when he was planning something benevolently devious or engaging in sarcastic humour. "It would give you the opportunity to make the girls forget about you being my girlfriend, so they would then stop hounding you because of it," he proposed jokingly.

The girl on the chair obviously chose to not honour this with an answer and instead shot him a snarky look, before continuing along the line of conversation, "What we would need is a second one, a spare, if you will… Somewhere only we can find it, and that one we shouldn't tell anyone else about."

"Oh, that's easy," Harry replied sardonically, "we'll just find someplace like that and reproduce an age-old miracle of which we have no idea how it works. If only there were a way for us to find out _exactly _how the room works…"

In that moment, they looked at each other as understanding began to dawn on both their faces.

"We have to immediately get out of this room…" Hermione began.

"…and ask it to show us how it works. Brilliant!" Harry finished.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hi all!

Enjoy the new chapter, leave a review and look forward to the next one; it's already in the works, and if I turn out to be particularly motivated (or bored), it might follow this very day.

Greetings,

alexandertheII


	33. Chapter 33: A Plan for Everyone

**Chapter 33: A Plan for Everyone**

As Hermione and Harry rushed through the door and into the corridor of Barnabas the Barmy, who was as usual being mauled by a group of aggressive trolls, they looked at each other, breathless from excitement.

"I can't believe we didn't think of this earlier," Hermione panted, looking at her boyfriend, her expression filled with the enthusiasm of learning something new and incredible. "And it was right before our eyes, for years, literally," she blustered, clearly upset with both her and her boyfriend.

"Hey, come on," Harry tried to soothe, "just think, if we'd thought of this earlier, we wouldn't have it now to occupy our time while school is thoroughly underwhelming."

Hermione scoffed, presumably at the idea of school ever being anything approaching 'thoroughly underwhelming' and started pacing around in front of the blank stretch of wall from which the door had just vanished.

"I need to see a room that shows how the Room of Requirement works, I need to see a room that shows how the Room of Requirement works…" she was whispering over and over until, on the third repeat of the way, a completely unremarkable door appeared on the wall.

Harry was stumped for a moment, not having expected this to be over as quickly or as easily as it had been. His girlfriend seemingly agreed, proclaiming, "Well that was easier than I thought…"

Without losing another moment, the couple dashed for the door and grabbed the handle together. The view that greeted them inside left Harry with only one conclusion to make. "Oh my," he declared breathily, "that is not going to be easy at all!"

OOOOOOOO

"Yes, Fips gave me that destroyed diary thing," Sirius acknowledged over the two-way mirror in Harry's hand. "Remind me again, what am I supposed to do with this?"

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh next to Harry, throwing a clearly annoyed glance at him, and repeated the same thing she had said earlier, "This is one of the horcruxes; it was given to Ginny Weasley with the intent for it to possess her and make her open the Chamber of Secrets; Malfoy wanted this to discredit Arthur Weasley's Muggle Protection Act; it's destroyed now; you are to use your talents and blackmail Lucius Malfoy into releasing his house-elves."

On the other end of the line, an amused marauder was laughing heartily at Hermione's exasperation. "I know," he pressed out between laughs, "just wanted to know how you'd react." Obviously frightened by Hermione's stormy expression (understandably so, Harry assessed), he added, "Sorry, just having some fun here. Already hatching something very entertaining for dear Luci, don't you worry."

After another fierce glare, Hermione seemingly decided she was no longer cross with Harry's godfather and returned to the cheery self she had been since they had found and begun researching the Room of Requirement's monumental enchantments.

"So, how are you, you mutt?" Harry asked the offended looking man in the mirror, who grabbed his heart in pretend hurt and placed his hand on his forehead theatrically.

"Why, my loving godson, why?" he asked, "why hurt me like this?" Now clearing up the dramatic gestures and tone he went on, "Quite well, actually; I've had the Bones here earlier and last week. Also, I've been _dogging _around the bars of fair Lady London, if you catch my meaning…" He winked at them sultrily.

"Oh please, Sirius," Hermione exclaimed, "spare us the creepy old man. But that's… nice to hear, I guess."

"Hey not everyone can have _their bed made for them_, like you two," Sirius protested, again with that innuendo Harry knew very well he was aware of how annoying it was to Hermione. In fact, it prompted her to leave godfather and godson alone on the loveseat.

"Sirius," Harry almost pleaded with his godfather, "could you _please _try and stop annoying Hermione like this? I know you were close in our first go-through, and I think that's very important to her."

In the mirror, the marauder looked seriously cowed and even repentant about his earlier behaviour. "I'll try," he promised somewhat dejectedly. "Relay my apologies to your girlfriend, will you? And talk to you soon, pup, okay? Got to get cracking on that blackmail thing."

"Bye, Sirius, let us hear from you," Harry returned the goodbye and turned off the mirror. He found Hermione sitting at the desk of their new 'standard' room for the Room of Requirement, again buried in the detailed reproductions they had made of the enchantment and contraptions powering the very room they were using now. Even these notes had taken two afternoons, and they were just a representation of the genius behind the magic at work here. Deciphering them would take weeks, if not months.

"Sirius relays his apologies," he said as he neared Hermione cautiously, hoping he did not find her too deeply engrossed in her work; disturbing that was never a good idea.

"Thanks," she mumbled, "do you think I was too harsh? I just hate it when he's being crass like that."

"And he knows that," Harry answered, "so he might just have to tone it down a little when you're around. You'll get more used to it again, as well, I'm sure."

Hermione looked like she was severely doubting the likeliness of either of these two things happening, but she kept her mouth shut. Instead, she turned back to the notes on the parchment before her and pointed to one particular set of runes that had been making life extremely difficult for her and Harry ever since it had crossed their path.

"I think I've finally found out what these are supposed to be doing," she explained contemplatively, "and their placement would suggest I'm right; see, they're old cuneiform script, Phoenician if I'm not mistaken. You're better with them, so I'll leave that to you, but I think they denote the energy source of the room's enchantments."

Harry sat down on the second chair next to Hermione to take a closer look at the sequence the girl was pointing out to him. "Look here," she went on, pointing at the very last few symbols she had not managed to decipher, and subsequently write down, "that's sāmek, hē, and ḥēt, and I really don't know what fish would have to do with walls and windows."

For a few moments Harry sat there, contemplating the problem they were faced with. "Have you looked at symbolic meanings of sāmek, yet? I think I remember something along the lines for that one, something Egyptian…"

Hermione pushed over the very, very thick tome that tended to represent even the most obscure interpretations possible for runes of many cultures; it was truly a priceless tool. After some more minutes of leafing through the pages and finding the Phoenician symbols, Harry triumphantly pointed at the one that had given them so much trouble.

"Here it is," he announced, pointing to the offending character's extended description, "and here's what I remembered; 'Possible meanings: fish, fishbone, Djed', which is an Egyptian symbol for stability. I'd say a stable wall you can look through, that sounds like the wards to me."

At hearing Harry's conclusions, Hermione's face shone with understanding and renewed excitement for the task in front of them. "That makes sense," she decided, "this room must be taking giant amounts of energy, and where else should that be coming from."

This time, it was Harry who immediately drew his conclusions from what she had said before him, and unfortunately, these conclusions were not pretty. "You know what that means right? We'll have to change the sequence, otherwise Dumbledore will know the moment we link another one of these rooms into the wards. Merlin, I don't even know whether we can actually _do _that without control over the wards," he mused, knowing full well he had to be sounding really annoyed by this particular stone now lying in their way.

"Oh, no," Hermione suddenly cried out, startling Harry out of the very annoyance he had started only seconds earlier; it was certainly an effective diversionary tactic.

"What is it?" he inquired, trying to pretend he had masculinely not reacted to the moment of shock his girlfriend had provided; maybe Sirius _was _rubbing off on him.

"I was supposed to meet Daphne five minutes ago, to find out what's been going on with her parents," she exclaimed, obviously horribly shocked by missing that important deadline.

"Where were you supposed to meet?" Harry asked, his tone of voice one he hoped would calm Hermione down.

"Here," Hermione answered, leaving her boyfriend somewhat confused on what exactly the big problem was.

"So, just get her in here…" he offered with a questioning gaze to the bushy-haired girl next to him, whom he could now see fretting a little.

"Yeah," Hermione began awkwardly, "it's kind of a 'girl talk', you know? She likes you, but you're still a boy, and I think there's things she'd rather talk about with a girl."

With a wink he got up and slowly made his way to the door, where he turned around once more and jibed, "You could have just asked me to leave, if you wanted to get rid of me…"

OOOOOOOO

Hermione had just managed to fire a low-powered stinging hex at Harry's quickly retreating buttocks, just to make him feel what messing with Hermione Granger got you; also, it was good targeting practice. After Harry had left, she just managed to put away the notes on the Room of Requirement's enchantments, when the dark-haired witch she had been planning to talk to entered.

To Hermione's eyes, Daphne looked even more frightened and lost than she had back when they had talked about this topic the last time. Without further ado, and thinking it was quite the right thing to do for her distraught friend, Hermione enveloped her in one of the patented 'Hermione Hugs'. The real one would always be reserved for Harry, but this one came somewhat close.

"Thank you, Hermione," Daphne mumbled, still 'trapped' in the other girl's curls, "I really needed that."

Having finally let go, Hermione navigated her friend to the sofa and prompted her to sit down. She was now cursing herself that she had forgotten to provide anything that soothed the nerves, tea preferably. Calling on an elf to pop in all the way from Potter Castle seemed really not worth it, and even though she had accepted the elves' position on the matter of their status, calling one such a long way for a petty task just rubbed her the wrong way.

"Now, tell me what happened over the break," she practically ordered, internally wincing a little at her tone. It had been the same one she had used with Harry so many times, always to no avail. Luckily, Daphne was either more receptive and less stubborn than Harry (a distinct possibility, given how stubborn her boyfriend could be if he dug in his heels), or her need was just that big. Whatever the reason, though, the words now were literally pouring out of the girl.

"Oh, Hermione, it's awful," she almost _keened_, "dad had some very bad people over during the holidays; I saw the Malfoys, the Notts, and some more I don't know. And since coming back, Draco has said some stuff I really didn't like, and I think as soon as I'm thirteen dad will enter me in an arranged marriage with one of the old pureblood families, and Draco has said he can't wait to see _more _of me, I turn thirteen in November, and I don't want to be married to Draco…"

The steady and intensive crescendo of Daphne's voice was interrupted by the need for air, which the distraught young witch fulfilled by hastily panting almost ridiculous amounts of air into her body to make up for the lack of oxygen. It did not stop her for long though, and Hermione decided to just let her friend get it out of her system for the moment.

"And now I'm worried what he'll do when I refuse, because I know he will somehow _get _me to accept, and then I'm worried about my little sister if I somehow get out of this, because Astoria is so nice and sweet, Draco or Nott would complete crush her given half the chance, and these arranged marriages always require there to be children and if I did not want that, a…" at the thought a shudder passed through Daphne, "…husband can just force a wife, even if she doesn't want to, to do, you know… that."

At the last words, the girl sitting next to her had gone painfully silent and Hermione's heart bled for her friend. During her older days of the first timeline she had started following politics and, to her great astonishment, had found that even in _muggle _Britain, marital rape had only been explicitly ruled out as a defence in court by the House of Lords in 1991. The fact that magical Britain was somewhat behind in this did not surprise her at all.

"Better now?" Hermione asked, knowing how hollow it had to be for someone enduring Daphne's situation, yet unable to come up with anything she considered even remotely better.

Daphne, seemingly agreeing with her, actually smiled a little at Hermione's question. "Yeah," she admitted, "a little ranting helped."

"Good. Although I don't really know why you had to rant with me; isn't Tracey your best friend?" Hermione inquired. If Daphne had a reason for keeping Tracey out of the loop, she would not interfere. Still, the more people were working on a problem, the higher the probability for someone finding a loophole; to a degree, of course. A camel was a horse designed by a committee, after all.

"I… I didn't really want to worry her with all of this, you know?" Daphne confessed, head down; maybe she was more like Harry in some ways than was readily apparent, after all. "She doesn't like showing it, but she's not as tough as she seems from time to time. Knowing about this would kill her."

Mulling over the situation in her mind, Hermione decided they could return to the matter later and use the 'now' to concentrate on the other matter at hand. "I assume you're looking for a way out of this?" Hermione sought confirmation, which she immediately received by way of Daphne's fearful nod.

"I actually already have a way out, if you'll help me…" came the prompt, if hesitant answer. Hermione tried for an encouraging look, and obviously it had worked, as Daphne went on more assuredly, "You remember Harry promising me he'd help me if my father tried making me sign something, right? Well, the time has come."

Hermione was momentarily stumped and took a moment just to gather herself. She had to make sure Daphne knew what this would entail, though. "Are you sure about that, Daphne? That would mean leaving behind your family and living in hiding, at least until this madness with Voldemort is over; we have no idea how long that could take."

With what seemed to be a steeling breath, Daphne nodded. "I know that Hermione," she answered heavily, "and just so you know, even if you don't help me, I'll run away, and if it kills me. Better a horrible end than horrors without end, right?"

OOOOOOOO

"So, I guess we'll have to learn the Fidelius Charm then?" Harry inquired from a severely shaken Hermione. He had just re-joined her in the Room of Requirement. Having seen Daphne leave on the Marauder's Map, he had quickly made his way back there, expecting the conversation to have been emotionally draining, no matter the actual content.

Hermione just stared blankly back at him, only increasing the worry Harry now felt.

"Hey, what is it? Come on, talk to me, Hermione," he prodded on, finally getting an actual response.

With an already muffled "Oh, Harry!" he was enveloped in a needy hug that felt as if it was designed to reduce him to pint-size. Having by now figured out that the harder Hermione hugged you, the more reassurance she needed, he pressed her into him with almost as much force.

Only five minutes later was Hermione actually able to talk about her conversation with their friend, and her agitated state had Harry extremely worried about the content of that conversation.

"Well, Daphne said her father had some bad people over during the holidays, people like the Notts and Malfoys," she described, still visibly upset, but also obviously trying to rein in her emotions, "people who, were Daphne to marry into these families, would make his allegiance implicit, without him ever having to do a thing."

Harry had been able to follow this far, in part due to him having played some political games by now as well. However, the idea of forcing someone you were supposed to love into this living hell was completely alien to him.

"And now she's worried about her little sister as well, although we have some time before that becomes an issue; it seemed like it could only happen as soon as they're thirteen," Hermione went on, steadily gaining more control over her emotions and again increasing the distance between herself and Harry. She seemed reluctant to but talking was just much easier face-to-face and not face-to-shoulder.

"And you're sure she wants to pull through with this," Harry checked with Hermione, just to be sure.

His girlfriend laughed sardonically, giving him the clearest indication of what she had to be feeling right now. "Oh, yes," she replied, "she said she would do it with, or without us. Also, she said she'd rather die fighting it, than be Draco's plaything for life." Harry could both feel and see a shudder passing through the girl on his lap now. "Let's just say, I believe her…"

Hermione's last statement hung in the room a few moments before anyone took the opportunity to move on.

"So, you're the planner out of us," Harry reminded, "what are our steps now?"

"Well, as you said, we need to learn the Fidelius, so we can keep her completely safe. We have no idea what kind of abilities these pureblood parents have to track their children," Hermione laid out; she was extremely concise again, now that she had something to do. She had always been that way, Harry observed silently. "And, one of us has to continue working on those notes from the Room of Requirement. Having that available to her might be able to make hiding that much more bearable."

OOOOOOOO

With as much to do as Harry and Hermione had, time was flying by. Soon, the late-Summer/early-Fall of September was turning to the definite Fall of October. The mood in their group of friends was cheery, if strained. Only Harry and Hermione were aware of what exactly the next holidays held.

They were even restricting the amount of information they gave to Daphne in case she was caught unawares by one of the two Legilimens residing in the castle. She had been briefed they were working on something, and quite diligently so, yet the details were hidden from her. As to these details, the work on the Fidelius Charm was progressing steadily, albeit at a slow pace. On the other hand, work on the enchantments for a copy of the Room of Requirement was slow as well, it just missed the steady aspect.

After the talk Hermione had had with Daphne, she and Harry had divided the projects between them. Since he was more adept at the Phoenician symbols that had turned out to make up much of the enchantments. All in all, the sequences were not that hard to decipher actually, so that was not where the problem lay. Even the copious symbolic, non-literal meanings were understandable; no, the problem was how closely the room's magic was tied to the school's wards. Especially the power supply was a critical part that was completely dependent on the Hogwarts wards being present.

In essence, this meant that every reference to the power supply had to be found, reworked and redirected; to what, Harry was not exactly sure, yet. If he wanted to build one of these at Potter Castle, which he definitely did, there would not be that big a problem. In actuality, the castle's central ward-crystal had enough capacity to spare for what would probably amount to dozens of these rooms. However, if they intended to have one of these rooms at the school, they could not simply draw on the wards the same way the original room did.

In fact, the only reason someone in control of the wards did not feel the room being used, was that the almost ridiculous amount of crystalline power storage the room held acted as a buffer, so there was a constant drain on the energy of the wards, whether the room was in use or not. But adding another such drain onto the original one would certainly not go unnoticed.

Furthermore, the young couple had been constantly watching their new defence professor. Following MacGregor's offer of assistance, the two had been reluctant to accept right off the bat, but their observations seemed to corroborate what she had told them. It certainly looked like the only aim the woman had was preparing a generation of pupils to stand up for themselves and their ideals. That this should not have been necessary in the first place was a point of hurt to both Harry and Hermione, even though they could not do anything about it, really. They had no exact idea what would happen, if Voldemort's horcruxes were destroyed while he was still a wraith. No, them keeping an eye on things and Voldemort returning to a body, in which he could then be properly killed seemed like the best possibility.

Not to mention all the blood bigots this would flush out, who would then have irrevocably declared their allegiance.

For the moment, though, they had a bigger worry; Sirius' plan to deal with Lucius Malfoy had been finished and was now awaiting execution. It was the kind of plan one would be expecting from Sirius Black, marauder and certified cocky lunatic.

OOOOOOOO

The night was black, as a pop of apparition broke through the silence that enveloped the grounds of Malfoy Manor. Over the hedges, Sirius could just make out the shapes of the peacocks resting in the trees; he would have to be careful of them, or they would make an enormous amount of ruckus.

Originally, Sirius had assumed that even gaining access to the Manor would take an enormous amount of work, maybe even help by a ward-breaker. Yet, when he had started his observation of the place (Padfoot was sometimes incredibly handy), he had found there were no wards active at all. Thinking about the kind of man Lucius Malfoy was, however, made that somewhat believable. Magically restricting access to his property would simply not do; no, his reputation was to do that all on its own and only grow further by doing so.

The arrogance of this man was unbelievable. To think he had been indirectly involved in Sirius' demise was almost insulting.

Within moments of arriving, Sirius felt the tell-tale feeling of a disillusionment charm drip down his body, quickly followed by a silencing and a scent-masking charm. If this mission was successful, it would be a great way to stick one to the pumped-up blood bigot, so failure was inacceptable.

During the hole in the hedges he had found during one of his scouting missions, the marauder slipped onto the property, close to the Manor's west wing; not exactly where he wanted to go, but it would have to do.

Before venturing further on the property, he quickly opened a small hole in the ground and dropped a little crystal into the ground Harry and Hermione had assured him would block any attempt at erecting wards over it. It was an incredible advantage, because it would allow him to get back onto the grounds even after the wards had been raised, something which would certainly happen after this night's foray. The downside was the relatively small area that could be covered, meaning he had to memorise the spot extremely well.

One of his wands in hand, Sirius proceeded along the back wall of the Manor house to the servants' entrance Padfoot's spying had revealed, and through which he was confident the kitchen could be found rather easily.

As it turned out, the kitchen was indeed right behind the backdoor Sirius had spotted, making his objective only that much easier to achieve. For the old pureblood families, there was what one could consider a fairly standard floor plan for this kind of house; while neither Potter Castle nor Longbottom Manor conformed to this standard (they were too old), Sirius happened to know from a visit here that Malfoy Manor did. This meant that, contrary to the design at Hogwarts, the kitchens were actually directly _next _to the dining room, making it easier for the owners to display their elven or human servants.

In the kitchen, there was a silent and incredibly weird noise coming from the oven. The source of the noise, as it soon turned out, was a small house elf, looking underfed even by elven standards. Now that he was closer, the sound he had heard made more sense. It was an interesting, if disturbing, mixture between a snore and a whimper. His long, spindly fingers were jammed in the door of a stove that still radiated heat, as if the fire burning inside it had not gone out that long ago.

Malfoy really was a sick bugger, after all, Sirius decided.

From the kitchen his silenced steps took him into his main goal, the dining room. He took the time to diligently count the number of portraits, so he would not be surprised by a painting shouting for help. Evading attention for being somewhere he was not supposed to was something he was adept at, after all.

Having counted three active portraits, Sirius readied his wand; this was the focal point of the entire plan. Three powerful, silent impediment jinxes later and even that rather anticlimactic focal point was behind him and he could turn to the portrait he had come for. There, in a frame directly behind the head of the dining table was the depiction of the current Malfoy family, frozen in what amounted to the perfect characterisation of their dynamic: Narcissa, managing to somehow show she adored her son, even while she sneered at Lucius; Draco looking up to his father in almost excruciating adoration; and Lucius, who seemed so unfazed by it all, he could just as well only have met these two people who he shared his house with.

Without further ado, there was a knife slashing through the canvas, obliterating this example of pureblood arrogance. After indulging himself in some destruction, Sirius left behind the note he had penned with Hermione's help, stuck to the wall inside the empty frame by the very knife that had destroyed the painting that had once inhabited it.

Back to the kitchen he went, and he was almost out of the backdoor, when he was interrupted by a small voice.

"What you be doing here, invisible man?" demanded who turned out to be the very elf he had formerly seen passed out during his punishment. Of course, it had to go awry now, just before he was done, Sirius grumbled inside, before he made to address the elf with some of the things he himself had been told about the goings-on at Hogwarts.

"I assume you're the elf, Dobby?" he asked, eliciting a small, cautious nod. "You know what your master has placed inside Hogwarts?" More nodding. "I'm here to punish him."

Afterwards, getting out of there had no longer been a problem, although Sirius winced at the thought of how the elf would now have to punish himself for letting him go.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hello together (yes, I know that is not how you say it)

How will dear Luci react? Look forward to Chapter 34 to find out!

Hope you enjoyed reading, and as always, please leave a review.

Greetings from Germany,

alexandertheII


	34. Chapter 34: Rage

**Chapter 34: Rage**

Lucius Malfoy was raging.

Someone had accessed his home, his property, and dared threaten his family. They had dared threatening the discontinuation of the Malfoy line, because he had no illusions about what slashing the portrait had implied.

However, beneath the fury was a much stronger emotion that Lucius was unaccustomed to feeling: He was afraid.

"_I have given you something precious for safekeeping, Lucius, and you let it be destroyed. Consider Lord Voldemort disappointed," _he remembered the note. There had been no more, and no less than that, written in a dark red Lucius would swear was blood. At first, this had not seemed like the work of his Master. Yet, the more he thought about it, the more it seemed to fit. It certainly did not lack the required theatricality.

As the note had not specified any instructions for him to follow, he would simply have to play it by ear, and the first step would be raising the wards.

Just in case it had not been his Master's work, after all.

OOOOOOOO

"Mission accomplished," Sirius reported on the mirror on the morning following his nightly trip to Malfoy manor. "The wards went up today, so we definitely spooked him."

Harry was very content with the way things were going at the moment; granted, Daphne's situation was unfortunate, but given what he had heard about her father by now he was sure a confrontation had been predestined. At least this way it was at a point in time where they actually had resources to spare on helping their friend.

Next to him, Hermione seemed less content. "And you're sure this is gonna work?" she questioned, "That he'll believe it's actually Riddle who's doing this."

Sirius just laughed, making Hermione glare at him a little. "Yes, Hermione, I'm sure he'll believe it," he replied, "maybe not directly, not on the first go at least, but give him time. As soon as I start bypassing the wards, darling Luci will completely freak out." Prompted, believably, by Hermione's questioning look, he continued, "People tend to be stupid. They will believe things because they either want them to be true or are afraid of them being true. I, for one, count on the latter."

Hermione still looked a little doubtful but managed to keep it bottled up it seemed. "Anything else interesting going on?" Harry asked, wanting to spend some more time chatting with his godfather; Hermione leaning on his shoulder was also a bonus.

The fact that Sirius immediately turned incredibly smug-looking told Harry there was indeed something going on. "I have met an enticing prospective woman for me," he answered deliberately, employing a slightly posh accent, obviously meant to cater to Hermione's wishes, even if it was in a rather sardonic way. "She listens to the name Sara, and I met her in a little muggle pub in London," Sirius boasted, obviously very proud of himself. Yet, almost as if working on a sixth sense, Harry had an inkling there was more to this.

"You want something from me, don't you?" he demanded suspiciously, prompting Sirius' face to light up immensely.

"I did not want to ask, of course," he went to the routine of at least pretending he had not been planning this, "but now that you did, there's something you could do for me. See, she's a muggle and Grimmauld Place is not exactly… I'll go with romantic; or safe for that matter."

Harry sighed heavily and, he could scarcely believe it was happening, Hermione was silently snickering. "Let me guess, the Potters have a property in London you want to use for your…amorous activities?"

The answer was very, very enthusiastic nodding that, on some level, Harry could actually understand. "Fine, but wash the linens when you're done," he replied, now starting to get really distracted by how Hermione was amusedly burrowing her head in his shoulder. Apparently, she did not want to give Sirius the satisfaction of seeing her laugh about his sexual exploits; she had, after all, only recently called him crass.

"So, there's a reason I love you after all," Sirius declared proudly, "hear ya pup."

"Love you too, Sirius," Harry replied, "goodbye, mutt."

With that their mirror call ended, and Hermione could finally laugh in the open.

"What is up with you?" he asked his girlfriend, absolutely astonished at her reaction to Sirius being Sirius. "Just a few weeks ago you called him crass…"

"I know," Hermione pressed out between bouts of laughter, "but can you imagine Sirius' mother's reaction to him showing up with a muggle woman? She'll turn in her grave!"

"I concur," Harry answered cheekily, imagining the woman in the portrait at Grimmauld Place impotently ranting against 'her blood-traitor son'.

"Also, I thought of something I want to do," Hermione went on, looking at Harry almost mischievously. "I love you, Harry Potter."

"That's what you wanted to do?" Harry questioned, "You said that last night before bed as well."

"Yes, that's way too long," she replied happily, followed by a tender kiss to the cheek.

"Love you too, Hermione," he stated with conviction as he pulled her close to him, "more than you can possibly know."

OOOOOOOO

"You will now pair up with someone else from your year," Professor MacGregor ordered the students who had shown up for her self-defence class, "and you will practise what you have just learned. One of you will begin with being on the attack, trying to hit your opponent. The other one will shield. You will switch roles when I tell you to."

Harry watched the defence professor as she oversaw the paring up of her pupils, while trying to stay out of the limelight as much as possible. During one of the recent self-defence classes he had been paired with Ronald and not exactly been able to hold in his temper; it was not something he wished to occur again, given this version of Ronald had not done anything to hurt him or his girlfriend. That was beyond the mere fact that him losing his cool like that threatened to display some of the real power he kept hidden whenever he was observed.

"Potter," the abrasive voice of the redhead Harry had once called his friend reached the boy's ear. So, he was not getting a reprieve in any way. "I want a rematch!"

Of course, he would; losing had never been something Ronald was any good at. "You do know we're supposed to be practicing shielding, right? Not a match…"

"Yes, I know, you…" the redhead replied, obviously, and quite surprisingly actually, gulping down an insult along the lines of 'tosser' or the like. Now that he was thinking about it, Harry had noticed something was off with the youngest Weasley son; maybe being sorted into Slytherin and not being in Harry's immediate orbit had done him some good, after all. If there was one thing Slytherin could teach you, it was subtlety. At least a real Slytherin could.

"Fine, I can start shielding," Harry offered indifferently, trying to keep a modicum of decorum. It was the least Hermione would expect of him. Also, while shielding took considerable amounts of energy, the amount was somewhat lessened when your attacker was not that strong, something that was definitely the case with Ronald. He was a kid, after all, with the magical power and prowess of a kid.

"Potter," the Professor called, "Granger, with me please. Weasley, you can practice with Greengrass over there." Harry could practically smell the annoyance from Ronald. Some things obviously did not change, and he still disliked the 'dirty snakes'.

"Ms. Granger, Mr Potter," she greeted them friendlily enough, though with an edge to her voice Harry did not like hearing at all, "I wanted to know whether you had thought about my proposal."

They eyed each other for some time, each side clearly waiting that the other would break the tense silence that had ensued. Finally, having had enough, Harry decided to answer, "We have, but we have not come to a decision. Anyway, is this really the right setting to pick up this conversation?"

The teacher chortled a little at that. "It is the perfect situation, actually," she explained, "hiding in plain sight. A teacher talking to two of her best students in public? Not suspicious at all. It also assures me you won't make a scene."

The routine with which that statement had been delivered, as well as the hint of maliciousness it was laced with, told Harry this was not the first conversation of this kind the older woman had ever held.

"In any case," she went on, as if none of the former dangerousness had ever happened, "I have something else I would like from you, and I really don't think you are going to take long thinking about it." With a nod, and backed up by his girlfriend doing the same, Harry indicated his willingness to listen; not that he had much choice. "I would like you to take over the self-defence class from me for the first and second years. Don't think I haven't noticed your little circle of friends eclipsing everyone else here in class. They're just less good than you at hiding how much they can actually do."

With a cringe in her brow, Hermione inquired, "What makes you think we would even consider that? You said yourself that we have no interest in getting attention on us in any way…"

Now it was apparently finally time for MacGregor's trap to spring and she revealed why she was so sure she had them right where she wanted them to. "Well, because I know that you know I can't teach everyone in this hall as well as I should, and the older years would never accept you as their teachers. I assume you want your friends to receive the best training they can, and your classmates? See, I'm not above a little blackmailing if it gets these kids what they need to be ready."

Now actually somewhat dumbfounded, neither Harry nor Hermione reacted for a moment. "I await your answer after our next class. Now go, practice with each other, alright? We wouldn't want Mr. Weasley to end up hurt, now, would we?"

OOOOOOOO

"What the fucking hell…" Harry cried out as they entered the Room of Requirement, throwing himself down on the sofa in front of the crackling fire.

"You know," Hermione declared, just as she was cuddling into his side, "I normally don't condone swearing, but I happen to agree. That Professor is downright scary!"

She could now feel the silent laughing Harry did through her body that was pressed up to his. "Well, you do realise she had us pretty much pegged, right? You know as well as I do that we will say yes," he observed, eliciting an annoyed snort from Hermione.

"And here we were thinking we were unpredictable this time," she huffed a little grumpily.

Hermione could feel and hear Harry chuckling again. "I think there's worse ways to be predictable than us predictably caring about our friends' well-being, don't you?" he asked in such a way it was clear he already knew the answer. "And if that's the only way in which we are predictable, I can live with that."

"I suppose you're right," Hermione conceded, even if she was still somewhat miffed. "Speaking of helping our friends, how's your research into the Room of Requirement going?"

Now Harry was actually laughing out loud, a sound Hermione would never tire hearing. "You asked me just this morning. What do you think I did on that front since then?" he inquired.

"Well, we spent a good deal of the morning working," Hermione replied, her tone of voice made up of both real and pretend offense, "you could have come up with something. Need I remind you how important this is. I, for one, am almost ready to cast the Fidelius."

It had been nagging at Hermione to say this out loud since a good few days now, though she had wanted to be sure of herself, and she wanted to make Harry proud. A silly notion on some level, because she was sure Harry was always as proud of her as she was of him, but it was what it was. Also, it had been one of the most complicated and intricate pieces of magic she had ever studied.

"Oh, you are, are you?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow at her. It was a prompt to explain, as much Hermione was sure about.

"I am," she declared, unabashedly proud at her accomplishment in magic. "The only other thing I've studied that is this complex and does not have to involve any actual enchanting is the horcrux ritual, and believe me, you do not want to know how that one works." A small shudder passed through them both as they were sitting on the couch in front of the warm fire. "The Fidelius Charm is not about power, though, it's about precision. There's two parts to the magic you invoke: Firstly, the retrograde aspect, by which you effectively erase the desired information from the collective consciousness of _all _living beings; that's the part that takes loads of power, but also the less intricate one, and the bigger the information, the more power you need. The second part, or anterograde aspect, is the sealing of the information with the Secret Keeper. While you most often read that the secret will be kept inside the Secret Keeper's mind, that's actually only true in a metaphorical sense. The actual fact of the matter is that there is simply a ward being cast, which you can do by either simply doing it with your wand or engraving it on rune stones. This ward is centred around the Secret Keeper, and it prevents anyone from getting information about the hidden knowledge from anyone else but the person in the centre of the ward."

Having ended her, admittedly long and convoluted, explanation on the workings of the Fidelius Charm, Hermione grew silent for a while. Harry seemed to be following her example.

"Do you think you can cast it to keep Daphne safe?" he finally addressed the pachyderm standing in the room. It was not an easy question to answer, but Hermione had vowed to try.

"I think so," she answered, "it won't be easy and take more power than I actually have, but if you help me, and we also take energy in from the wards at Potter Castle, we could do it. Problem is, we would be unable to do much for at least a few days after."

Hermione could almost _feel _Harry's questions pouring out of him; it really was incredible how well she knew him, and in every form he had appeared in over the years, too. "Magic always takes a price," she pre-emptively answered the biggest one, "the bigger the magic, the higher the price. It's not like some weird, overarching consciousness, or anything, but there's always a price to pay. It might just be energy, like with most magic, or it might be a piece of your very humanity, like with the Horcrux ritual."

Another eerie silence settled over them at yet another mention of the Horcruxes. "So, can I do it? Yes," Hermione summed up, probably sounding more confident than she felt, "but it will take a toll on us. No taxing magic for at least a week after, for the both of us. That also means no training."

"That's a price I'm willing to pay," Harry declared confidently. Hermione agreed with him wholeheartedly.

OOOOOOOO

"I assume you have come to tell me you agree to my…" a wicked little smile appeared on the defence teacher's face, "…offer."

Harry had decided he would take this one, since Hermione was still a little miffed over a teacher blackmailing her students, even if it was for a seemingly good cause. "We will," he answered simply.

Not seeming to have awaited more, Professor MacGregor proceeded with what was obviously a planned introduction of some sorts. "Very good," she said jovially, "and Ms. Granger, I really don't think you have to look so unhappy about this. I have managed to secure approval for extra lessons to be given to my teaching assistants. I figured we would need a way to explain your advanced knowledge, right? I actually do believe we can all take something positive out of this situation."

"Of course, Professor," Harry replied silkily, while Hermione was already backing up to the door. He had a feeling there were some more occlumency practice sessions in their future.

"I shall see you Friday afternoon at four," was the last thing he heard before the heavy door fell closed behind the couple. Hand in hand, there was very little traffic in the corridors Harry and Hermione frequented, they made their way to the Room of Requirement, where they were greeted by the normally welcome, though in this moment unfortunate presence of their friends.

"Hey, you two," Neville greeted, looking up from the essay he had obviously just started writing. "can you help me with this DADA stuff, Harry? Or you, Hermione?"

"Sure," they answered almost simultaneously, making Susan and Tracey giggle a little. Ignoring the continued snickering levelled at them from the two girls, Harry and Hermione proceeded to the spots at the table next to Neville. "We actually have to do that one as well, don't we?" Harry asked his girlfriend, receiving a little eye-roll in return.

"Honestly, Harry James," she huffed, "of course we do. We're in the same class."

Giving his girlfriend a fond, if exasperated smile, Harry sat down next to Neville and they dove into the 'hard work' that was essay-writing in second year.

OOOOOOOO

"I asked you a simple question," Professor MacGregor said in a dangerously low voice, that suddenly turned to screaming, "ARE YOU ANGRY?!"

Harry did not know about Hermione, but he was damn well getting angry with her treatment of his girlfriend. The moment he saw the teacher pull out a wand behind her back, the quietly simmering cauldron of rage he kept bottled up inside boiled over.

"SECTUMSEMPRA!" he called out and watched horrified as the menacing spell closed in on the teacher.

"Watch out," he heard Hermione call, but in a move that belied her age, the Professor had already ducked out of the way and the spell impotently struck the wall.

Into the ensuing silence the completely emotionless voice of Maria MacGregor sounded. "Did you see that?" she asked of a still shocked Hermione. "Mr. Potter saw me draw my wand and his carefully bottled up rage just took over." She took a few steps back, so she could look at both her students simultaneously. "Anger, rage, hatred, they are a part of us, a part, we will never be able to completely cut off or control, especially not in battle."

Hermione became the centre of attention once again, as MacGregor asked her yet another question. "Tell me. What do you think would have happened, had I actually attacked you?" Given the lack of an answer, she replied to her own question. "Two possibilities: I would be either victorious, or lying on the ground, maimed, maybe dead. That is Mr. Potter's rage, and he needs to learn how to keep it in check." The last had been said with her dark eyes directly on Harry. "You on the other hand, Ms. Granger, you don't feel your rage, and your hatred. Let me tell you, it's going to come out one day, and it will not be pretty."

Hermione audibly gulped before, in a feeble voice that made her sound like she was not secure about what she was going to say either, she replied, "I don't hate anyone, and I'm not angry."

Professor MacGregor grunted only in annoyance. "If you actually believe that, you have convincingly lied to yourself. Everybody hates, and everybody's angry, that's nothing to be ashamed of. You both certainly have reasons to. I don't want you to give in, just feel those feelings. Otherwise, they'll eat you up, and one day might lose you the focus you need on the battlefield, because they will come flooding like water through a broken dam."

A few moments no one uttered a single syllable, let alone a word or even a sentence.

"You both seem to have grown up with the idea that emotions are something to never show," she observed, hitting way closer to home than Harry would ever be ready to admit, "you just took very different lessons away from it. They won't hold up in the long run, neither of those lessons."

With that gloomy conclusion they were released, right after receiving a slip of parchment detailing what they were to teach at the first defence class they would be holding. Luckily, when they reached the Room of Requirement this time, it was empty, and they were glad for it.

With a great sigh they fell on the sofa side-by-side.

"I think she's right; you know?" Hermione finally admitted in a small voice, "we both really did not have the best upbringing for dealing with emotions. And you've been known to… blow your top, from time to time."

Harry stayed silent for a long while before he settled on an appropriate answer he hoped would actually make his girlfriend take a good long look inside herself as well. "Granted; did you think about what she told you?" It was admittedly less profound than he would have liked it to be.

This time it was Hermione's turn to grow silent for a while. "I'm not really sure how I feel," she admitted, "which is kind of what this is about, right?"

"Kind of," Harry smirked back. "You wanna try and leave out some of those deeply-hidden emotions." The abashed look he was getting did not immediately cry, "Yes, please!", but it was not completely lacking readiness, either. However, she probably needed some more coaxing. "Would it help if you could be angry in my defence?"

Hermione took a little to think about it before giving a decisive nod.

"You know how the Dursleys treated me, right?" he asked, already spotting a little anger behind the brown eyes of his girlfriend. "Now think that it was Dumbledore who put me with them, and he knew what was going on. He had a member of the Order watch me growing up, there's no way he did not know what was going on. At the very least, madam Pomfrey will have told him when she first examined me; she would have noticed and informed him."

The change that was now visible on Hermione's face would have been terrifying for anyone but Harry, and it admittedly was, even to him. However, it was also heart-warming that he had someone who would display this level of ferocity, even only thinking about Harry being harmed.

"Who the hell," Hermione cried out, simultaneously releasing a blasting curse that proceeded to hit an unsuspecting chair standing in a corner, "does he think he is," she finished the sentence, while a bookshelf went up in splinters and torn parchment. "Seriously. Either he knew you had that damn horcrux in your head and should have done something, or he didn't and there is no way to justify subjecting you to this." With one last upheaval of magic power, the remaining bookcase went up in flames.

Harry, torn between the burning wood and the need to hug his girlfriend settled on an awkward combination, putting an arm around Hermione's shoulder while silently casting aguamenti at the smoking remnants. As they were looking at the smouldering remains, they suddenly started laughing.

It was not a shy, or restrained laughter. It was as if something that had been holding Harry back had been loosened, and now he and Hermione were indeed letting loose.

"Feeling better now?" Harry asked his still-shaking girlfriend. He for one definitely was.

Hermione for her part, still laughing a little, smiled at Harry, gave him a small kiss and beamed broadly. "Oh yes," she declared, although her face fell in as she surveyed the damage she had done to the room. "Look, I destroyed the books," she exclaimed and rushed over to take a look at the torn pages, bindings and covers. Harry, feeling compelled to immediately comfort his girlfriend, stepped over to Hermione, slipped an arm around her waist and nuzzled her hair.

"It's alright," he soothed, "they were just projections the Room made, remember?" He could instantly feel Hermione relax in his arms, again starting to chuckle.

"Yeah, right," she muttered, "I forgot for a minute what magic can do…"

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hi all,

Hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, please leave a review that is encouraging and/or constructive.

Greetings from Germany,

alexandertheII


	35. Chapter 35: Sometimes

**Chapter 35: Sometimes, everything goes according to plan**

"Have any of you ever cast until exhaustion?" Harry asked the gathered first and second years in the large classroom they had been assigned. A few hands rose, all of them second years; most of the class was looking stumped, especially the youngest pupils, including one Ginny Weasley and her friend Luna, who was now raising her hand.

"Luna, what is it?" he asked, already finding slipping back into 'DA-mode' surprisingly easy.

"Thanks, Harry," came the dreamy answer from the little blonde waif, who then promptly went back to dreamily looking at Ginny. The youngest Weasley was standing next to Luna, staring at her friend questioningly. Her behaviour since being freed from Tom's diary had been encouraging, yet not able to completely dispel any fears that lingered with Harry and Hermione. For the moment, though, she was in the position to find something weird. Considering she had had time to get used to Luna by now, she really should not be, but the weird-in-a-good-way girl just got you by surprise, no matter how long you knew her.

"You're…" Harry started, "welcome?"

As his friend grinned back at him happily, he was assured he had said the right thing. However, this did not bring his lesson forward by an inch. "Now, does anyone have an idea why trying to magically exhaust yourself in a safe environment at least once is a good idea?" Harry asked the assembled students. Again, Luna's hand rose in the air. However, this time it was followed by Ginny's shaking one. "Yes, Ginny," Harry called her up, prompting an immediate reaction in the form of blushing. At least she managed to speak without much stuttering.

"So…" the redhead began hesitantly," so we will know how it feels if we're ever in a fight."

Harry nodded at her answer, gave the girl a smile (oh the blush that prompted) and turned his gaze back to the others. "How many of you would know how to defend yourselves without using your magic?" Luna's hand went up again. "And without a magical creature coming to your help." Luna's hand went down again. "That's what I thought," Harry proclaimed and before he proceeded with his explanation, "Therefore, it is essential for everyone to know their limits and how it feels to be approaching them."

At this point he gave over to Hermione, who had been standing to the side waiting for her part to begin, meaning now. "Follow me," she bade the group, who stepped out of the classroom they had been using and made way for a specially prepared dungeon room. Setting everything up had been quite a bit of work, but both Harry and Hermione were confident that work would pay off. As the group followed their peer-teachers into the room, cloaks soon started getting taken off.

The heat was as intense as expected, yet mentally preparing for it really did nothing to curb the feeling of a thick wall of hot air slamming into you when crossing the threshold. There were massive fires lit in all four corners of the spacious room that gave it a warm and inviting glow. And the aforementioned massive amount of heat.

"Now, as we learned, nothing is more magically demanding than shielding, because you have to spend a large amount of energy for all the area you have to protect," Hermione recapitulated what they had been taught by Professor MacGregor earlier on in the Defence Club, "well, nothing takes more energy to defend against than heat, at least nothing that would be safe to use. Therefore, three of you will step up to each of these fireplaces and try their best at shielding themselves from the heat radiating off of them. Don't bother trying to shield against the hot air, that won't work. Just shield against the warmth coming directly from the fire."

The first group of twelve students took up the challenge. Soon shouts of 'Protego!' were heard all over the room, and barely five minutes later, the two first years of the batch were starting to get wobbly on their legs.

"When you notice yourself getting weaker, maybe dizzy, please stop," Hermione announced, "we wouldn't want anyone to lose consciousness, now, would we? There's some chocolate in a basket next to the door. Take a piece and wait there."

Right after Hermione's announcement, the two main addressees followed the instructions (exceptionally gleefully at the idea of chocolate) and the next two joined the others at holding back the heat of the fire.

They had been on their exercise for around forty minutes when finally, the last second years, who had been holding on under the cheers of their classmates, left the room, almost collapsing as they trotted out of the door to get some much needed and deserved Honeyduke's Finest. They were followed through the door by both their teachers and the other students.

"I assume you noticed how you were getting weaker and weaker?" Harry inquired to general agreement from the other students. "That's good. You might have noticed that, as you were becoming weaker, it was harder and harder to hold your shield up, and you were getting weak on your knees." More nodding. "Gives you a notion of why trying to continue fighting when you start feeling magical exhaustion is a bad idea."

Again, Hermione took over proceedings from then on. "This room will stay like this, so you can come back and work on training your magic, because that is possible," Hermione announced, to general happiness from the group. The idea of strengthening their connection to magic was obviously appealing. "However, please don't go in there and train alone. Always be at least in groups of two, and only do it in the evenings, so your coursework does not suffer; school is important."

With that fittingly Hermione turn of phrase, the eagerly chatting group was dismissed to their dorms.

"You can relax now, Harry," she reminded him as the last of their classmates went around the bend of the corridor. "You've taught students before, didn't you? And they were much older."

Harry gave off a light chuckle before he turned to look at his girlfriend and answered, "Yes, but they were also not 50 people. That makes a difference."

He only got back a look of astonishment and Hermione commented, "You've fought and survived multiple encounters with an incredibly powerful dark wizard, and before you say anything, yes your skills had something to do with that, just like your courage and your luck. How come 50 of your classmates freak you out?"

It was an intriguing question. After all, he had often been scared during his tumultuous Hogwarts years, and mostly kept his cool. Now that he was thinking of it though, the times he had been most scared did not have anything to do with Voldemort or a member of his band of bigots, not directly at least.

"It's because these are my friends," he finally determined, "and I want to do right by them. Some of these children might have to use what we teach them here to survive."

They both grew silent as the dire situation the wizarding world was in, as well as the approaching war, once again became apparent to the young couple.

OOOOOOOO

A small pop sounded through the air, making the peacocks in a close tree raise their heads. In a dark part of the gardens surrounding Malfoy Manor, a shadowy figure had appeared and was now swiftly and silently moving toward the back entrance.

Without a sound, Sirius Black pushed open the door and stepped into the kitchen, which was empty this time around; good, no house-elf to disturb him. From the kitchens he made his way through the dining room and into the grand entrance hall. He would make sure to make this hall somewhat less grand during the course of the evening.

However, the first stop on his great tour of Malfoy Manor was young Draco's domicile, which Sirius found exactly where he expected. It was the epitome of a young pureblood's abode, not unlike his brother Regulus' rooms had looked like. The number of books on very powerful and dark magic was staggering, even though he was in great doubt the Malfoy heir had read any, let alone all of them. Still, they would make a fine addition to Harry and Hermione's library on what they were fighting against; there would probably even be some spells in there that the Malfoys had always kept to themselves. So, in the bag they went.

Before the marauder left Draco's room, he dropped his final present of the evening, a crystal Hermione had enchanted for him with blackfire. It was some very dark stuff, therefore Sirius had no worries Lucius would be able to put it out, but not after it had destroyed a good deal of the expensive antique furniture, as well as all the things Draco kept in his room. Given what a pampered prince he was from Harry and Hermione's description, that would annoy the shit out of his parents.

After a short stroll through the library where he picked up some more books and dropped another, for want of a better word, blackfire bomb, he moved through Malfoy senior's study, where he did the same, only with business documents (after carefully scanning for any possible enchantments).

Now, it was time for the most grandiose display of this visit. Returning to the entrance hall, Sirius pulled out the vial he had been handed earlier by young Fips, in which a viscous red liquid was stored. It was Draco Malfoy's blood, acquired without the boy's knowledge and only under heavy protestations by Sirius' godson and his girlfriend.

Still, they had to be convincing, and this was exactly something Voldemort would do.

Sirius pulled a glove made from a weird material, the muggles called it 'latex', on his hand and began painting his message on the wall where the Malfoy parents would notice it the moment they went down for breakfast. His job done, Sirius dropped the last enchanted crystal from his pocket (it was meant to activate the others) and left the dark and silent manor behind.

OOOOOOOO

The first sign that something was wrong at Malfoy Manor came in the form of a scream; Narcissa Malfoy's panicked voice echoed through the house, prompting her husband to dash out of his rooms in a practiced strut. What he saw as he stepped into the entrance hall had even the veteran Death Eater stunned for a moment.

"LORD VOLDEMORT IS RISING! TRAITORS, BEWARE!" the dark red scripture on the wall proclaimed. Before the two Malfoy parents even had the chance to fully take stock of the situation, something else happened: At that moment, a monumental shudder tore through the entire building, and within seconds, the source became apparent.

Hungry, black flames were licking along the upper corridor of the Malfoy's ancestral residence, out of three different rooms. After a few moments of shock, Lucius leapt into action. He had immediately identified the magic at work here as blackfire, meaning the only way his family's seat of power and pride would be left standing was if he acted quickly and decisively.

Next to Lucius, his wife was still in a sort of shock-induced paralysis; that would have to change for them to have any chance of living in this house in the foreseeable future.

"Blackfire," Lucius called and shook her shoulder. "I will take the study, you the library. Draco's room can burn to ashes for all I care," he ordered, ignoring the offended look his wife gave him at that, instead relying on the long-ingrained instinct of obedience he so appreciated in the woman. Even if that was the only thing he really appreciated.

With that, the Malfoy patriarch went into the fray. He would of course have ordered the house elf to help, but blackfire was something they were unable to deal with. Once he was on it, putting out the fire was actually easier than one would assume, as the curse was not actually intended to be used on wizards; it had been, for a few times in history, but it was more commonly associated with the pure wizarding elite enjoying muggle hunting. Oh, the fear the in-extinguishable, dark flames brought upon the worthless. In-extinguishable by non-magical means, that is.

Still, it was not the time to fondly think of the last muggle hunt in which he had partaken. With little hope left for anything to have remained, Lucius dashed from the study to his son's room, holding onto the vague idea that maybe some of the rarer tomes he had lent the pampered little prince would have survived. Alas, as he stumbled through the door, the only things to greet him were his wife and the charred, hollowed-out remains of the expensive room.

Again, Lucius felt the rage bubbling up; however, it was spiked with a more generous amount of fear than it had been the last time. This certainly bore the Dark Lord's handwriting, and if his Master knew about him giving away the diary and wanted revenge, Lucius was fearing for the continuation of the Malfoy family. In that moment, a terrible idea almost overwhelmed him.

"Narcissa," he ordered, "go find out what the red stuff on the wall was."

OOOOOOOO

"I report," Sirius spoke into the mirror in a military fashion, "all objectives achieved."

Just like the last time, Harry and Hermione were sitting in the Room of Requirement to hear Sirius' report on his nightly activities.

"And you're sure no one got hurt?" Hermione demanded, visibly irritating the older man at the other end of the line.

Sirius answered with an annoyed look. "Listen, Hermione, I am as sure as I can be that they are okay. This is a spell designed to be used against muggles, so Lucius would know how to control it. The only way I could be surer _our enemies _are well and dandy would be by going up to their door and asking."

Either sufficiently cowed or having gained an insight into how fruitless it was to discuss this with Sirius now (Harry assumed the letter, as it was rather hard to cow Hermione), the girl just gave a shrug, and little later, the mirror call ended. Sirius had some sleeping to do.

"Hermione," Harry drew his girlfriend's attention, "you know these are our enemies, right? What do you think is going to happen, once the war begins? They have had their privileges for so long, they won't hand them off easily. Even if Voldemort were never to return, there will at some time be conflict."

Hermione gave a large sigh and looked at him for a long moment, at the end of which she encircled Harry in her arms and almost cuddled the stuffing out of him. "I know all that," she finally said, "that doesn't make it easier. And this attacking from the shadows business, it just feels… I don't know, wrong."

Now getting where she was coming from, and mentally kicking himself for not having seen it earlier, Harry freed a hand from her embrace and proceeded to lightly stroke her back. "I know what you mean," he said compassionately, "but these people will use any dirty trick in the book to get to us, so we'll have to play on somewhat of an even field. I'm not saying we should go around and crucio people just for the fun of it, but there are some nasty things in our future. Remember, this is the man who had no qualms about using a little girl for his means, not caring, or probably even hoping she would be destroyed in the process. You might not like Ginny," a snort from Hermione made abundantly clear how understated 'not like' was, "yet she deserves to make her own decisions. At the moment she's just a little girl with a disturbing crush."

For a few long moments nothing was said. However, as Harry made attempts to ease up on the embrace and get up, he suddenly felt himself being gripped more tightly again. "Can we just stay like this for a while?" Hermione asked in a small voice. Harry nodded after a very, very brief period of time to think it over.

OOOOOOOO

It was at breakfast that Harry and Hermione first noticed the events of last night having an effect inside the school. Over at the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy seemed to be more subdued and, most importantly, more jumpy than usual. Apparently, his parents had found out exactly what had been used to write on their wall and had told their son. This also meant there was some form of communication employed by the Malfoy family other than owls.

It was so bad for the young Malfoy that he did not even decide to act on Weasley's goading, something Harry and Hermione had had the distinct displeasure of seeing become a tradition over the last school year. Admittedly, Ronald had somewhat cooled it down this term, just like he had improved his work in class (neither Harry nor Hermione had any idea how that had happened), yet this amount of baiting should have resulted in a blow-up. Not even the fawning adulation of Pansy Parkinson seemed to be able to derail the blond Slytherin's bad mood, and it was not for her lack of trying.

At the Gryffindor table on the other hand, where the group had taken to assemble for their breakfasts, spirits were running high. Most of them were not aware why exactly they were in a good mood, but the general happiness was nevertheless palpable, and even Daphne was very much enjoying herself. This was especially remarkable considering, since she had returned after the summer break, she had not done much laughing. In the end it came down to the fact that Harry and Hermione's good mood was just infectious.

"So, what are the plans for today?" Neville asked the group, who now all took a collective look towards the large windows against which an October storm was thrashing. "Because I don't think 'going outside' will be an option."

It was Hermione who answered trying audibly, at least to Harry, not to sound in any way conspicuous. "Harry and I want to talk something over with Daphne, but after that, we could all meet in the Room," she suggested, while Harry gave a smile to their dark-haired friend, trying to reassure her that what they were planning to tell her was good news.

There was general agreement on the plan, as well as general interest in what exactly they had to talk over with Daphne, and before they knew it, breakfast was finished, meaning Harry and Hermione were making off with Daphne, leaving the others behind.

"Why don't you join us in the Room in… say half an hour?" Harry asked the still nosey group of Tracey, Susan, Hannah, Neville and Luna, "bring your homework and we'll do it together." Harry of all people suggesting for everyone to bring their homework still seemed alien to the boy himself, although the rest of the group simply accepted it as the usual, and soon he was catching up to his girlfriend and their embattled friend.

The Room Hermione had made appear was the usual setup they used for when the whole group assembled together in there, negating any necessity to leave and reform the Room again after their friends would show up. Since this iteration of the Room of Requirement had a comfy couch and crackling fireplace, just like every more purpose-built setting they could have imagined, it really did not matter much.

"We have good news," Hermione went right off the bat, making Harry assume she wanted to lead this discussion with a calm and collected, instead of a perpetually worried, Daphne. "However, if you're okay with it, we would like to keep the plan to us until just before the Express leaves. That would make it easier to conceal from the two Legilimens in the school."

At these news Daphne looked both extremely relieved and miffed. If Harry had to guess which part of what Hermione had said had which effect, it would not be hard to do. "I know this sucks," Harry said soothingly, "but we really think this would be safer for you. That way, no one can pick the information from your head, and we know Snape would have no compunction about ratting us out or running to Dumbledore."

Daphne gave a sad nod, looking at both Harry and Hermione in turn with a watery smile. "Thanks, you two," she said simply, "I really don't know what I would have done without you to help. Maybe I'd have found a way out, but my father would still have Tori…" Suddenly, the girl grew deathly silent. "Damn it all, what about Tori?" she asked the two people sitting in front of her.

It was a valid thought, and as far as Harry was concerned, one, he had already thought before. However, for the moment, they had no chance to go for Tori as well; an additional hurdle was the fact they did not know, whether Astoria Greengrass actually _wanted _to be saved. They would not take part in abducting a child against her will.

"I'm sorry, Daphne," he answered, "we've thought about this, but there's no way we can do anything about Astoria at the moment. Even if we could, we wouldn't, that would just be kidnapping." With a sympathetic sigh he looked Daphne in the eye and continued, "If, when she's close to turning 13, she's in the same position as you are now, we will of course help her. But not, when we don't even know her and what she wants."

Daphne gave them both a resigned look that somehow expressed both 'screw this, let's do it anyway' and 'I know, you're right'. Following a weird impulse, Harry added, "The most important thing is that you don't tell anything, to anyone." He gazed at Daphne sternly. "Not even your sister, especially not your sister. It would put us all at risk," he reaffirmed, just to make sure Daphne would not slip. They were taking on a huge risk in helping her like that. Putting the moral differences of the two cases aside, they could probably be charged with kidnapping anyway, whether they got Astoria out or not.

"I promise," Daphne replied meekly, much of her former good mood up and vanished. "As long as you promise to help Tori out as well, if and when she needs it."

Now that was finally an easy question to answer. "We will always help out who we can when they ask for it," Hermione stated with conviction, "but your sister will absolutely get priority."

It was only minutes later that the rest of their friends showed up in the Room and the last vestiges of their dour conversation all but vanished. And if Daphne seemed less upbeat than that morning, no one seemed to notice.

OOOOOOOO

Draco Malfoy looked over his shoulder.

Again.

It had become an annoying, yet necessary part of his overall demeanour. Usually, he would have just assumed Crabbe and Goyle were having his back, to the narrow extent of their capabilities, but even they were suddenly suspicious in the young Malfoy's mind. He had not been told everything by his father about why exactly he was moving to a new room over the Christmas holidays, nor had he been told what exactly had happened that had made his parents fear for his safety. Yet, the fact that they obviously were in fear was enough to make him worried.

For all of Draco's life, his father had stood as a proud, unwavering rock, a beacon of noble and pure blood. Seeing him scared was pulling the ground from under the Malfoy son. Therefore, he had willingly followed the orders his father had given; Draco had installed the wardstones around his bed, only ever returned to the common room at curfew and spent the rest of his time in an unused classroom no one else had any knowledge of. No one else, but Pansy.

This was the one point in which his actions differed from his father's orders, because the attention he received from the fawning girl felt just too good to get rid of. Also, Draco could think of no scenario in which Pansy could ever pose a danger to him, even if she wanted to.

However, it all came down to one thing: He had the feeling this was about to get worse. And when that happened, he wanted to have at least one pleasure left of what the world owed him as a noble pureblood.

OOOOOOOO

Halloween had never been an easy time for Harry Potter, at least not since he had learned what exactly the date meant for his family. That was discounting the fact that, since he had returned to the greater wizarding world the first time, bad things always seemed to happen on that day.

However, this year was going to be different. Very much so.

This had been a directive instituted by his girlfriend as well as his numerous friends. He had even been pressured into attending the Halloween feast, by Neville of all people.

"Harry, think of it as, I don't know… celebrating the great life your parents had even if it was short," the still somewhat pudgy boy had said. That had done it for Harry; if Neville, who could not be linking good memories with this time of the year, either, was advocating Harry's participation in the feast, who was he to argue?

And so, it came that Harry Potter was now sitting between Luna and Hermione, and opposite Neville while his head was being circled by a swarm of enchanted bats.

At that moment, thoughts of what was soon to befall the Malfoy family came to his mind, and he knew, that for once, some Death Eaters would have a worse Halloween than he did.

Against all odds, Harry Potter was smiling on Halloween.

OOOOOOOO

Sirius Black popped into existence on Allhallows' Eve at the spot he had kept free from the apparition barrier that now surrounded Malfoy Manor. Given the date, he would have liked nothing better than to spend time with his godson, wallow in his guilt over the Potters' death and then get blindingly drunk in the pub. Still, getting some payback on Lucius Malfoy for his prominent role in the war that had killed his friends was not bad, either.

It was starting to get deceptively easy, getting in and out of the Manor without being noticed. Yet, today would be both his last, and probably hardest foray into the Malfoys' den. Along his now trusted path he went up to the backdoor, through the kitchens and into the entrance hall with the grand staircase. Annoyed by his own negligence in not doing it earlier, Sirius cast a silencing charm on himself before stealthily sneaking up the steps toward where he assumed the Malfoy parents lay in their bed.

His assumptions turned out to be right, at least partly. In the large master bedroom, located just where Sirius had assumed, he found the sleeping form of Lucius Malfoy. Realising he should have expected, especially when considering who he was dealing with here, that they would have separate bedrooms, he took a moment to ponder who the letter he was holding was addressed to. In the end, given Malfoy Sr. was the main target of all these shenanigans, there was not that much to think about.

Sirius drew the wicked, jagged knife from his belt and took a pondering look at the sleeping, long-haired wizard. How easy it would be to just slit the vile man's throat. He had not felt this murderous since the time he went after Wormtail alone, intent on ripping the little traitor into a million little pieces.

That thought was also what shook Sirius out of these thoughts. What had going after Pettigrew gotten him? Years in prison, and the loss of his godson's childhood to Dumbledore's machinations and the Dursleys' bigotry. No, he would do what he had come for, for the moment satisfied with the knowledge that Lucius Malfoy would lose something that might be even more precious to him than life.

Instead, Sirius pulled out the folded parchment, held it to the wall above the bed's headboard and the sleeping form of Lucius Malfoy, and sunk the blade through it. The first part of his mission done, Sirius snuck back out of the room, down the stairs and into the drawing room. A few minutes of searching later he had found the secret stash of _very _dark artefacts, hidden under the floor of the drawing room as described by Harry. The amount of information these two had was really astounding.

After taking a look through the assorted horrible memorabilia, he took a few of the less dangerous and more useful things and dropped a special surprise inside. Where blackfire would be unable to safely destroy the gathered atrocities in there, Greek Fire was exactly the right approach. Less uncontrollable than Fiendfyre, yet almost as destructive. Nothing short of a horcrux would be left in its wake.

And that was exactly what was needed.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hi all,

I know, I know, cliffhanger. How horrible of me.

But I do so enjoy doing it. Be confident in the fact that I am already working on Chapter 36, and please leave ample amounts of reviews.

Greetings,

alexandertheII


	36. Chapter 36: MacGregor's Story

**Chapter 36: MacGregor's Story**

A mighty explosion shook Malfoy Manor to its very foundations. Abruptly pulled from sleep, Lucius Malfoy leapt out of bed with a sense of foreboding that went even beyond what could be expected from a man whose house had just been rocked by an almighty detonation. He quickly reached for his dressing gown and dashed out onto the hallway, where he almost collided with his wife.

Contrary to Lucius' expectations, there was no smoke or any other sign of fire anywhere to be seen, no black flames hungrily tearing at his home, and no ash staining the carpets. However, there was a strange, almost acidic taste to the air, which immediately put the experienced wizard on edge. It was a smell that tended to go hand in hand with some of the more undesirable potions. Luckily, nothing poisonous; unluckily, stuff that burned hot, fast, and destructively. It was a real mixed bag.

Since neither he nor his wife were currently burning in a hot, fast and destructive fashion, there was only one plausible target for an alchemical fire left in the house. As soon as Lucius entered the drawing room to see the house elf, worthless little creature that it was, trying to put out the fire by shooting water out of its finger, he knew there was no saving the precious artefacts he had kept in the secret compartment.

The green flames of Greek Fire, all-consuming and relentless, were gnawing on the invaluable tools of the dark arts; the only upside was the fact this particular fire would not spread beyond the area hit in the original explosion. That was a bonus insofar as the Dark Lord would certainly be able to utilise Fiendfyre, if he ever saw the need. That he had not done so until this point was either due to him not wanting to kill Lucius Malfoy just yet, to keep his precious contacts intact, or it was because of the Dark Lord's unfortunate tendency to play with his victims. Lucius sincerely hoped it was the former, for he had seen the latter often enough to be sure he did not want to be in that position.

As Lucius entered his room, he immediately noticed something he had either, in his earlier haste, missed, or, which was the more worrisome idea, had not been there. It was a knife sticking out of the wall, a jagged, wicked-looking object that perfectly illustrated Lucius' current state of mind. Then, the elder Malfoy noticed the parchment pinned to the wall. With trembling fingers, and another sense of foreboding, he pulled the blade out of the wall and read the dark-red script he somehow knew would again be blood.

_You have betrayed me, Lucius, and should be made to suffer and die._

_But Lord Voldemort is not without mercy._

_Prove you are worthy, prove your humility in the face of Lord Voldemort's greatness._

_Break your wand and free your servant._

_Pray, to all the gods you know that Lord Voldemort will not demand more._

So, this was what his Master wanted. A show of humility and deference, and Lucius Malfoy was inclined to give it to him.

And then, he would make the whole world suffer for the injustices he had endured.

OOOOOOOO

Harry and Hermione were sitting down to what they hoped would be the last of these calls. Again, it was Sunday morning and again, he and Hermione were in the Room of Requirement to hear from Sirius how his nightly mission had gone.

"Heya," the black-haired man greeted them happily from within the mirror. "How are you two doing? How was Halloween?"

The urgency in Sirius' voice actually managed to put a smile on both Harry and Hermione's faces. It was heartening to see someone being this invested in Harry's state of mind.

"I'm still not completely clear why you wanted that particular elf free, but you should be able to call on him this evening the latest," Sirius went on in his report, "if it doesn't work, you'll know dear old Luci did not do as ordered, and I will have to remind him why defying his 'master' is a bad idea."

The absolute glee with which the last few words had been delivered made it abundantly clear how much the marauder had enjoyed getting one up on the blond Death Eater, and even Hermione admitted (though silently) that a little humility would be good for Lucius. Not that she assumed it would change him in any way.

"And everything went alright?" Hermione inquired, somewhat annoyed by how pushy she must have sounded just then.

Still, Sirius' good mood seemed to be unquenchable that particular morning. "Oh yes," he exclaimed giddily, "went off without a hitch. I even got you some more stuff to tinker with from Luci's hidden stash, and I had the priceless opportunity of leaving a knife literally hanging over his head."

Next to Hermione, Harry was now laughing heartily, yet Hermione noticed that something seemed off about her boyfriend's godfather. "What is it with you today, Sirius?" she asked softly, hoping to prevent any of the 'shutting-up' behaviour one could sometimes find in Harry as well as his godfather.

However, instead of drawing into himself or anything the likes of, the man in the mirror just smiled fondly at first Harry and then Hermione and answered, "Just had a moment there that made me appreciate everything I have."

Their talk went on for a few minutes more with nothing of real consequence being said, and not that much later, a widely yawning but still gloriously happy Sirius hung up on them. His bed was calling on him, as he said.

"Can we tell Dobby everything," Harry suddenly asked out of the blue. "I mean, actually _everything_?"

Hermione pondered the thought for a while. On one hand, the more people knew of a secret, the less of a secret it got. On the other hand, having someone like Dobby on their side and with full knowledge of past, present and possible future would be a huge boon. In the end, it all came down to one simple question, though. Did they want Dobby involved at all? And was it their place to decide that? If she wanted for house-elves to be free, that meant leaving the decision on becoming involved in the war to Dobby, and with 'the great and noble Harry Potter' already being a part of the war, there was no question what path the little one would choose.

"If there's a way to make sure no one can pick anything from his mind, I think we should," Hermione finally declared, to the great delight of her boyfriend. A growl from said boyfriend's stomach told Hermione it was time to end their comfortable togetherness; it really was a shame.

Still, Hermione had a feeling it would be a good day at Hogwarts.

OOOOOOOO

It was on that very evening when Hermione and Harry were standing in an unused classroom close to Gryffindor Tower (their group of friends had occupied the Room of Requirement). Not unlike his godfather had been during their mirror-call, Harry was now filled with a giddy anticipation. The idea of seeing Dobby again, and free to boot, was hard to trump in his eyes. Even though the little guy's attempts at saving Harry's life had been rather misguided and, with proper distance, comical, the one time it really counted, the elf had come through. And in doing so, he had not only saved Harry's life, but also the life of the one person he loved most in the world. That was something the gravitas of which could not be overstated.

Therefore, it was a moment filled with tense anticipation and hopefulness when Harry silently focused all of his mind and clearly intonated, "Dobby!"

For some time, nothing happened, and Harry was starting to think Sirius' plan had not been successful. In beginning despair, and with even more focus, he again called, "Dobby!"

Mere moments later, there was a small 'poof' and the widely grinning figure of Dobby the house-elf appeared, bedecked in a clean towel and a hideous pair of passion killers. It seemed Malfoy Sr. had gone all out to find the worst piece of clothing he could think of, and it definitely showed. Still, there was Dobby the elf, standing proudly in the middle of the room in his way-too-long passion killers. And as soon as he saw who it was that had called him, he broke out in tears of adoration and joy.

"The great and honourable Harry Potter be calling Dobby?" the small creature screamed in utter joy and disbelief. "How can Dobby be hoping to be worthy of such an honour?"

There were minutes spent with disbelieving ear-flapping, joyful crying and hopping around; Harry was emotional as well, as was Hermione. It took a good amount of time, until they managed to calm Dobby down enough to be able to actually hold a somewhat coherent conversation with him. Even then, there were moments when the elf would suddenly and randomly break out in a huge grin.

"So, you've met my godfather, and it was by his brilliant plan that you were freed," Harry finished up the brief retelling of the events leading up to Dobby's dismissal from the Malfoy household. The elf had just stood in place, silently fidgeting around, while Harry had talked. Now, he was obviously thinking things over.

"But how does the great Harry Potter be knowing who Dobby is?" he eventually asked, instinctively putting his finger on the one issue Harry had left out. The one issue he actually _had _to leave out, at least if he had any regard for keeping his secret safe.

"We happened to know," he finally answered. "I can't really tell you anything else without knowing you can keep it all safe. Can elves learn occlumency?"

Dobby shook his head in visible sadness. "Elves not be learning wizard mind magic," he explained, "we's not be made for it."

With the mood in the room now somewhat frayed, Hermione turned the conversation towards lighter topics, and little later, Dobby was offered and accepted a stay at Potter Castle. For now, he would be just another elf among many, free and unburdened.

OOOOOOOO

"Careful now," Harry warned needlessly, as he and Hermione _carefully _lifted the huge crystal out of its mount. It was a truly gigantic specimen, with the only other one even coming close to the same size being the one they had recently received from Harry's 'crystal farm'. With a last, almost non-existent shudder, the central crystal settled into the filigree prepared for it.

"And you're sure the one you cultivated will hold?" Hermione inquired, looking questioningly at the large, deep blue crystal sitting in the second filigree, right next to the clear one that had been used for the Room of Requirements.

"Oh yes," Harry replied, throttling down his annoyance at the continued questioning; if he was being honest, even just to himself, he could scarcely believe it as well. "It' called copper sulfate; makes for a great crystal material, although it doesn't hold up to humidity that well. The first one I made was in humid air for too long and actually started turning the table under it blue."

Now obviously convinced this was actually a conceivable alternative to always having to look for new raw material in nature, Hermione looked happy they would be able to make it themselves.

"What now?" she asked, looking back at the strange construction arrayed before them. "Do we have to do any enchanting, or some charm to transcribe the information?"

Harry turned to look at her disbelieving face and answered, "Nah, we can basically just put the original back and start putting the enchantments on the new one. I think I'll start with the one that keeps the crystal dry."

In response to her boyfriend's declaration, Hermione pursed her lips and intensified her look of disbelief from before. Harry got where she was coming from; in his life things were rarely this easy. "This was really anticlimactic," she eventually observed, loosening up her expression and smiling at Harry, "but what was it about loud poofs and huge amounts of smoke and stinky gases? The mark of a bad wizard, right? And you're a great wizard."

"Just like you've been telling me since first first year," Harry smiled back as an answer. "And before you get too ecstatic about this, remember, we still have to carve thousands of runes for the enchantment to work." In an instant, he was being looked at by an enthusiastic young witch. "Something I would like your help with. We both know how bad my handwriting is, and I'm no better at carving."

OOOOOOOO

"Stop," MacGregor called from her spot behind the safety shield. "Stop, just stop." The professor gave Hermione an intense glare. "Both of you, you don't give it your all. And these are just dummies," she finally exclaimed after something of a staring match with Hermione. "How do you expect to survive a battlefield when you can't even seriously wound a fucking wooden dummy with a face painted on? In battle, there's only three groups: Allies, civilians and enemies. The first two, you protect, the last one you take out, the hard way."

"But, Professor…" Hermione began, only to be momentarily halted by the intense glare now directed her way again. "But what if some of them are being forced, under imperius or anything like it," she argued heatedly, "things aren't that easy."

For a few moments, the room was completely silent but for the heavy breathing of three incensed people. "That is, because you, my dear," MacGregor replied, pointing first at Hermione and then at Harry, "just like you, still hope you will somehow be able to win this war with your honour intact, and still have the notion that your enemies do as well."

By now, Harry felt compelled to weigh in as well. "Yes, I actually do hope that, at least for myself. I have no illusions about the Death Eaters, though," he declared hotly, feeling his famous temper rise.

The professor just gave a humourless snort, after which her lips grew into an incredibly thin line. "If you ever stand within the ashes of a hundred, a thousand, a million dead souls, ask the ghosts, whether honour matters even a tiny bit. What do you think they would answer?"

A heavy silence fell over the young couple as the realities of their future crashed into them. Would the dead of the Battle of Hogwarts have cared, if fighting dirty had saved their innocent lives? Harry would have liked to think so, but deep down, he knew it was not the case. As easy-going as Fred, as eager as Colin, and as serene in their deaths as Remus and Tonks had been, Harry knew, they would have preferred to live. All of them.

"Your silence is enough of an answer," their teacher concluded. "Now, I'm not telling you to run around spewing killing curses, but if you have to use lethal force, you owe it to everyone else, everybody who can't fight for themselves, to do so. Most of these people made their choice, so show them the error of their ways."

Again, silence enveloped the group, and again, it was Hermione who broke it. "Pro-professor," she began shakily, "what happened to you?"

For a second, MacGregor's eyes flashed dangerously, but the disturbing shine was gone so quickly Harry was almost sure he had imagined it. Now, there was just a deep heaviness setting down on that stern face. "I suppose you've earned the right to my story, haven't you?" their normally stoic teacher replied in an almost dejected voice. "Alright," she declared with an almost palpable sense of… relief? "I ask you to neither react, nor interrupt. Can you do that?"

Assured by Harry and Hermione's almost eager nods, she started with her story. "As you know, I was born in Berlin, capital of the German Republic, in 1927. My father was a policeman and a drunk, barely ever at home, and my mother just a normal, if progressive, housewife. 'Just' does not mean easy, by the way. Me and my brother sure were a handful," MacGregor explained emotionally. "When I was two, the great crisis hit, first the United States and then later Germany as well. My dad was rather safe in his job but even his salary was cut when I was four. There were always long lines in front of the soup kitchens, and invariably, there would be slogans by some party displayed to entice the suffering masses."

By now, Harry had an idea where this story might be going; while his knowledge of world history was admittedly limited, it was not hard to guess where a story about Germany in the 30s, massive amounts of unemployment and civic misery as well as parties vying for power, was going.

"There were multiple radical parties fishing for votes from the 'forgotten masses', including the communists all of Europe was starting to get really afraid of. Still, in the end, it was Hitler and his Nazi goons that gained most during the crisis. They just appealed to people, with their simple worldview, and a multitude of other reasons we'll probably never know. Anyway, before I knew, and just a ten-year-old, I was forcibly enrolled in the Jungmädel, the sister organisation of the Hitler Youth. It's hard to describe how exactly it is for a young girl from a fairly liberal household to come into an organisation like that, where everyone is wearing the same, where you're taught nationalist songs and slowly indoctrinated with an ideology that is foreign to you. By far the worst thing was to see many of my friends take to it like they were born for it. I'll admit, I often enjoyed it; we were going on hikes, weekend tours, even holidays my parents would never have been able to afford. And then, the war started."

She took a moment to close her eyes, clearly overwhelmed by memories now. Harry found that fully understandable; the story was severely tearing on his reserves as well, and it was not even his.

"I was twelve, my brother was eight, and we were both way too young to really understand what was going on. I know, that's around your age, that's the reason I'm explaining it. My father had been drinking more and more over the years, growing more and more unhappy with his job; I honestly don't know what they had him do, but the police was part of a totalitarian regime, so it can't have been pretty. At least he got to stay and was not ordered into any of the occupied territories, where the most horrible things were done."

Another bout of stillness settled over the room, yet again breached by a heavy breath from the obviously emotional woman sharing her story.

"When the war started going badly for the Nazis, even though they would never have admitted that openly, they started pulling in more and more, and also younger people. In '44, me and my whole class were drawn in as 'Flak-Helferinnen', literally AA-helpers. In the end, we almost manned the gun alone, were even given pistols to defend ourselves if 'the murdering, raping Bolsheviks' ever managed to get to Berlin. I assume you know the Soviets did come, and they were angry, had lost over twenty million people. And while they were not as bad as the propaganda had made them out to be, there were rapes, I can personally attest to that."

"Don't," MacGregor suddenly ordered, pulling Harry out of his state of shocked reverie, only to see Hermione had raised her hand to ostensibly comfort their clearly hurting professor. "I don't need or want pity. That is a part of my life I'm through with; this just goes to show what people become capable of when you fill their heads with propaganda and hatred. Please understand, I'm not arguing for anyone here, and the only thing I'm arguing against is war, but sometimes you can't avoid war."

After a short pause, MacGregor went on, "In '45, something happened that finally really showed me how vulnerable I actually was: I lost my wand in an air-raid, and there was no chance of getting a new one. So, there I was: A young woman, father drafted into the 'Volkssturm', the last, hopeless effort of resisting the enemy counterattacks, and dead, my little brother with him. My mother was mad from grief, and I was suddenly standing there, a young muggleborn with barely any magical training beyond the little I had received alongside my standard education, and no wand. To make it short, I became a prisoner of war in a Soviet camp, an experience from which many of us never returned. I think, the only reason I lasted as long as I did, long enough to learn the little wandless magic I needed to be able to escape, was because I was young and healthy. Before you ask, my wandless magic amounts to being able to get past a fence undetected."

If he was not completely mistaken, Harry could now see a small tear in the corner of her eye, and his were feeling suspiciously humid as well.

"Somehow, I managed to get back home, only to find out my mother, after hearing about me being taken prisoner, had taken the weapon of some fallen soldier and put a bullet through her head."

For the latest of her revelations, the professor had employed a cold, detached, almost clinical tone, and her face had grown still as the Black Lake.

"That was in 1949, and it was the moment I realised I could no longer stay in my country. With what little money I had been able to collect from my inheritance, I bought a new wand and got out there. I did not want to go east, because I still had very bad memories in relation to that destination, and the Soviets were ever zealous in expanding their reach, so I went west. Two years I travelled, mostly staying on muggle farms who would allow me to stay with them for helping out on the fields. I was always very productive, being a witch and all, but few would take me in; to them, I was the enemy. I went from Germany, to Belgium, to the Netherlands, to France, and finally I went to Britain. Somehow, a story I had heard as a small child had come up in my head again, about Scotland, its lakes, highlands and castles, "she reported with a far-away smile, almost looking like a young woman again.

"I'd always wanted to see that, and I finally got to, when I went to stay with a young farmer in the highlands, who had recently inherited the land his family owned. His name was LCpl Ayden MacGregor of the Highland Light Infantry, 2nd Battalion, and he happened to be another muggleborn wizard with some very bad memories. Within a year, we were married, within another I was carrying our first child. Gwyneth was born in 1953, and our son Ayden followed two years later."

With her face now resting in a sad amalgamation of fondness and melancholy, she pulled out an old black-and-white photograph of who could only be the woman telling her story, albeit much younger, a tall, rugged-looking man, and two happy children, clearly carrying their mother's distinctive nose.

"Ayden and I were over the moon with our little family, but we had both seen how fragile things could be, and I had vowed never to be as helpless as I had been when I had lost my wand, or as in that prisoner camp. So, we made sure we were capable of taking care of ourselves, just like our children after they had started their education. Things started going really bad when beautiful, smart, strong Gwyneth was about to start her seventh year, that was in 1970. Both Ayden and I were seeing worryingly striking similarities in ideology between the Death Eaters and the party, and we started standing up for the little people, were once even approached by Dumbledore for his order. But we did not trust them."

Harry was starting to get the feeling they were nearing the end of the story now, and from what he could observe, it would not be pretty. MacGregor took one last, stealing breath and proceeded.

"It went well for, must have been four years at least. After graduation both our daughter and sun started helping in our fight, against all our protests, and we were effective for a while, effective enough to warrant execution by the 'Dark Lord' himself. You can't believe what these animals did to my beautiful, happy daughter while they made me, her brother and her father watch; then they started killing us off, one after the other. Me they kept for last, saying I was the biggest annoyance out of all of us, wanting to make me watch them kill the others. I still have no idea how I escaped."

The stern, serious woman was openly sobbing now. Wisely, Hermione did not try comforting her again. "Sometimes I wish I hadn't escaped. I'm not so naïve to think I would somehow be reunited with them, or anything the likes. I've learned there is nothing to depend upon, least of all some god, but at least the loneliness would stop."

Suddenly pulling herself together, she opened her eyes again, and they were shining in fury. "When I was watching my home burn from the distance, I swore to kill each and every one of those that had been there that night."

Having heard the story in its entirety now, and with the storyteller being in what seemed like an almost catatonic state, Harry and Hermione left the classroom.

They did not speak another word until they were safely ensconced in the warm, comfortable common room again.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hi all,

Hope you enjoy the new chapter, even though it is rather heavy. All the historic facts are diligently researched (to my abilities) and should conform to actual historical events and units. If anyone knows better, please let me know.

If you catch the allusion I made with the 'dead souls' and the honour, please let me know as well.

I am currently playing with the idea of someday writing a spin-off, detailing the story of Maria McGregor neè Neumann, so if that would be something you're interested in, please let me know again.

Enjoy your day/evening/morning,

alexandertheII


	37. Chapter 37: Threat Assessment

**Chapter 37: Threat Assessment**

"I think the main question we have to answer ourselves is 'do we trust this person?'," Hermione declared confidently, "everything else will follow. We're not going to tell her the whole truth, anyway."

Content with having voiced her opinion, she settled back down into the crook of Harry's neck where she had been lying comfortably. Now, it was actually even better, because in his pondering, her boyfriend had started to hum lowly, making his whole body vibrate pleasantly.

"I say we still need to know if she can keep the information safe, though," Harry replied, "ask her if her occlumency is up to snuff, maybe even demand an Unbreakable Vow. She can't really get upset about that, after being the one to tell us we had to be more ruthless, can she?"

Hermione pondered the idea for a while and was almost worried by how much sense it seemed to make. An Unbreakable Vow was a very serious issue, and the wording of it had to be impeccable, otherwise one risked inadvertently breaking it. Even the intent on the side of the one swearing the oath had to be clear, otherwise things could get really muddy. If you truly believed that you were helping someone by betraying them, the oath held true. Snape had impressively shown that with Draco during the whole 'Dumbledore Assassination' thing.

"I'm not sure the professor will do that," she weighed in, still snuggled into Harry's left side, "we should have a plan for both eventualities."

Again, Harry hummed, though it was more a hum of affirmation than of pondering. "So, if she is ready to swear the oath and knows occlumency, we let her in on everything but the whole time-travel situation, and if she won't swear the oath, we inform her in a limited fashion?" Harry asked, as if clarifying he had understood her right. "What if she doesn't know occlumency?"

It was certainly a possibility, Hermione had to agree. Given that occlumency was a rather rare skill among the wizard public, which only the really powerful or sinister families routinely taught their kids, there was a good chance a muggleborn would not know it.

"If that's the case," Hermione decided in a final tone, "we can't tell her anything beyond what she already knows. She's together with Dumbledore and Snape all the time at staff meetings; we can't risk even more things spilling out about us."

The newest hum Hermione interpreted as an annoyed, if conceding one. Given that was pretty much how she herself felt, she could live with that.

OOOOOOOO

"How are things going down there?" Harry heard Hermione call down the ladder into the box they had chosen for their first trial run with a knock-off Room of Requirement. "Everything in place?"

Harry checked over everything arrayed before him again. Satisfied with the work he had done, he looked up to his girlfriend and her curly hair currently blocking light from coming into the space-extended cube.

"I think so," he shouted back, "I'm feeling reckless today, let's try it. Coming back up."

Not bothering with the cumbersome and most annoying ladder, Harry simply swung a leg over an old, yet still very much working broom he had found in the original Room of Requirement and soared toward the exit.

"Let's try it," he prompted eagerly as soon as he stood back on his two feet next to Hermione. With an eagerness to his step only the good feeling of having created something great could give you, he went forward and pushed the lid on the box closed.

"You do the honours," Hermione said, just as he was starting to look expectantly at her, "you figured it out."

Seeing the point in her objection, or maybe just really wanting to try this thing out, Harry made for the box, imagined the kind of room he wanted (something simple to begin with) and walked up-and-down in front of it.

One time.

Two times.

Three times.

Just as Harry was preparing to open the lid, there was a small explosion, the box sprang open and an acrid smoke filled the room.

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and say it did not work," he observed sarcastically, earning himself a questioning glance from his girlfriend. "Let's wait a few minutes for that smoke to clear and take a look then."

Just ten minutes later, Harry was sitting on his broom again, Hermione's arms slung around his midsection, and flying down into the sooty depths of their newest project. "Looks good," he observed, descending. "The battery and relay crystals are broken, but the main crystal seems fine, the wards should have…"

In that exact moment, an idea shot through his head: wards, they were the key.

"I know what happened," he shouted excitedly, just as they were landing. "The enchantments are tuned to receiving their energy from wards, not directly from crystals. We changed the source, but not the profile of the magic the relay crystals expect. They must be drawing too much energy like this, so they burn out."

His apparent genius (at least that was what Hermione sometimes jokingly called it; Harry himself was not exactly sure, yet) earned him a kiss on the cheek that made a great moment somehow even better. Also, it made his thoughts processes stumble for a bit. However, that was a deal Harry would always be ready to make.

OOOOOOOO

It was exactly a week after the young couple had heard Professor MacGregor's story that they were once again welcomed into the retrofitted classroom by the older woman.

"Hello," she greeted the two, strangely reserved now that her past had been revealed; Harry could not really fault her for that in any way, if he was being honest.

Deciding to cut to the chase, so to speak, and not let their teacher dangle in the air for inordinate amounts of time, Harry began, "Hello, Professor. Hermione and I have been thinking, and we would like to be more open to you about what exactly is going on and how I, that is to say we, are involved."

Now, it was Hermione's part to take over their pre-arranged narrative. "However, due to immense security concerns, there are some conditions that would need to be fulfilled beforehand," she picked up exactly where Harry had stopped. "That would include for you to learn enough occlumency to at least detect an intruder on the level of Snape and Dumbledore, as well as an Unbreakable Vow to not, willingly or unwillingly, divulge any information you receive working with us that we don't allow you to. We can't afford someone being taken prisoner and subjected to interrogation, who knows most of our secrets."

A tense silence filled the air after Hermione stopped talking, while Professor MacGregor looked at the two 'children' warily. Harry could almost read the doubts off her face. It seemed like hours until she finally reacted, again employing her no-nonsense, brisk voice. "You are demanding a lot and offering little," she observed critically, eyeing first Harry and then Hermione, who actually managed to chuckle.

"Oh, we're offering a lot, actually," she replied, "but even hinting at what it might be would put our assets at risk of becoming useless, possibly even dangerous."

MacGregor returned to pondering for a few minutes, clearly taking her time to strenuously look through all her options. "Maybe I'll take the oath later," she decided with a final tone, "for the moment, rest assured I can protect my mind. I'm no master, but with what I do, there's little choice in learning at least basic occlumency. Enough talk, now; time to continue with your training."

After that, there was indeed little more talking done. Instead, the professor had Harry and Hermione continue training on wooden dummies with faces painted on them.

After what they had heard the last time they had been in that room, there was little hesitation in Harry and Hermione's actions.

OOOOOOOO

"Luna, what are you doing out here like this? It's freezing cold!" Hermione cried out as she saw the small blonde girl sitting on the shore of the frozen Black Lake, wearing nothing more than her regulation work cloak. "This cold is gonna be the death of you."

Quickly, she rushed over to cover the girl in warming charms, only to find she was a little late for that.

"It is alright, Hermione," Luna replied, seeming not at all fazed by Hermione gushing around her, "I am skilled with my wand, so I don't have to be cold. I was just hoping to spot some Nargles and did not want to scare them off by wearing bulky clothes; for some reason, they are attracted to the school."

Even in the thick coat she had worn for her stroll over the grounds, Hermione was starting to get really cold, and the big clouds of mist forming with each of their breaths were almost freezing in mid-air. The highlands in December were certainly not to be trifled with.

"You seem worried, Hermione," Luna observed, still looking straight ahead, now with a small smile playing around her innocently timeless face. "You want to share anything with me? When my mother was still alive, we often talked, you know?"

This gave Hermione pause for a moment. Sometimes, it was so easy to forget how much this young girl had already lost, while at other times the fact of the matter just jumped into your face; this was one of those times. The way she was sitting there on the rocky shore, staring into the distance while trying to find one of her father's imaginary creatures she seemed way older than she should have to be. Worse, Hermione was absolutely sure the next few years would force many more children of her age, or even younger for that matter, to grow up before their time. She and Harry might be able to mitigate the damage by a good bit, but they were neither omnipotent nor omniscient.

Realising there had been a long pause in the conversation, and that she was getting colder by the second, Hermione picked up again. "So, Luna, why do you think I need to share anything?"

Luna giggled a little and took a moment to stare at her friend with her inquisitive eyes. "I never said you 'needed' to share anything, I wondered whether you 'wanted' to share anything?" she clarified. "Although, now that you brought it up, anything you need to share with me? Because you seem like you need to share some kind of burden with someone."

Now, it was Hermione's turn to take a moment and gather herself, before shaking her head a little in exasperation at Luna's (mostly) endearing weirdness. Still, whether endearing or not, it could seriously rock your boat. "So, then why would you think I 'needed' to share something, now?"

The look she received as a response to her question was baffled, nothing more and nothing less. "I told you," Luna replied, as if the answer was as clear as a mountain stream, "because you brought it up. Although, it might also be, because you just seem like you need to share something."

Beginning to fear this was going to go absolutely nowhere with the way they were running around in circles, and with the assumption that Luna was most probably secretly enjoying this charade, Hermione began to work on getting out of the merry-go-round of conversation. It was a daunting task, if she said so herself.

"Okay, Luna, so what do you think I should talk to you about?" she inquired consciously and clearly, encouraged by the smile Luna was wearing now.

"Now you're asking the right questions," she replied excitedly, "and here I was beginning to fear you were infected with wrackspurts." The petite, blonde girl got up, unceremoniously grabbed Hermione's hand and started dragging her towards the still bright and welcoming edge of the Forbidden Forest. Before long, the two had reached whatever Luna had chosen as their goal and forcefully sat first Hermione and then herself, down on an old, dry trunk.

"You might feel better if you tell me, why you don't like my friend Ginny," Luna prompted earnestly. "She can be really nice, you know. And when she's not infested by wrackspurts, she is my only friend."

Beyond all the craziness of what was going on, and despite the exasperation Luna was prone to causing in her, this was something Hermione would not be able to let stand. "That's not true, Luna," she declared forcefully, "we're all your friends!"

Luna just looked back at her for a few seconds, blinked owlishly and threw her arms around Hermione. As quickly as it had started, the hug was over again, leaving Hermione completely flabbergasted and trying to comprehend the unpredictability that was a conversation with Luna Lovegood.

"Wow, thanks Hermione," the dreamy girl said excitedly, before returning to her former spot on the smooth trunk. "I never thought I would ever have more than one friend. Now, why don't you like Ginny?"

Caught off-guard by the sudden return in topic to their earlier theme, Hermione took some time to form a coherent response. "It's not that I don't like her," she lied straight through her teeth, although it was in a sense true, at least for this version of Ginny, "I just don't really know her. And sometimes, the way she looks at Harry is not the way an eleven-year-old should look. It's not a way anyone should ever look."

Waiting for a reaction from her friend, Hermione was shocked by the total lack of anything even approaching that. Instead of defending Ginny, or agreeing with Hermione, Luna had just inclined her head a little to the left and was looking back intently. Finally, she replied, "I see. She was starting to worry me, as well. Those books are bad for her, I think."

Not really sure what Luna was talking about now, and filing the idea of books being bad for anyone for later, Hermione asked, "What books?" It was also the moment she had an inkling of an idea about the subject of the books; in a way, it did make a morbid kind of sense.

"Oh, the Harry Potter books of course," came the almost expected reply. "They were quite successful, I think. When Harry vanished, people were asking where he went, and they were fantasising about it, too. All very funny actually. Ginny's favourite one is 'Harry Potter's Broken Broom', where he and his best friend break Harry's broom, and then try building a new one from scratch. Ginny would always pretend she was there with them."

"Why did no one ever say anything about this?" Hermione replied, completely shocked at the news, even though she probably shouldn't have been. "Why did I never see one at Flourish and Blott's?"

Again, Luna inclined her head to curiously muster Hermione, before she answered, "Everyone must have thought you already knew. And Flourish and Blott's never sold them, they don't carry fiction."

Determining she found her friend's last statement to be incredibly hilarious, given that they did carry books on whatever it was Trelawney pretended to be able to do, Hermione did not respond for a while.

"Do you want to read them?" Luna inquired, looking at Hermione nervously, almost as if she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "I have them at home, daddy could send them here."

Hermione groaned at the thought of it, but she had to admit it would be good to know about how the wizarding public thought about Harry Potter. And starting with these books was as good a place as any to start.

"Yes please, Luna," she replied, knowing fully well she did not sound as if she meant it, at all.

OOOOOOOO

"Harry Potter's Broken Broom?" Harry asked again, looking up from his work on the revamped relay crystal. "Seriously? Who would ever want to read a book about my life?"

"I don't think it's about _your _life, really," Hermione replied in a ponderous tone, "more about the life of 'the-boy-who-lived'. Only, for most people who don't know you that distinction doesn't exist."

Suddenly, a whole lot of things he had been asking himself became at least closer to being answered; all the while they were relocating to the couch. "Do you think that's why people always assumed the worst of me, that I'd be some kind of a pampered prince? Rita Skeeter certainly did not have a hard time convincing people of stuff like that, if I remember correctly."

It was cute being able to watch Hermione think, Harry decided, as he was doing exactly that; she had a way of scrunching up her nose and furrowing her brow he found extremely endearing. Prompted by what he found to be simply too much irresistibility, he scooted closer to his girlfriend and gave her a sweet kiss on the lips. Nothing fancy or in any way steamy, just short and sweet.

"You know, I should scold you for interrupting my thought-processes," Hermione mock-complained, "but I think I can forgive it for this. As for your question, I don't really think people need a reason to think the worst of each other, to be honest. If it allows them to feel better about themselves, and deal with the fear of Voldemort possibly being back, they will do it anyway."

Now somewhat bummed by Hermione's bleak outlook on the world, as justified as it might be, Harry thought it prone to turn the conversation onto a lighter topic. "I'm done with the adjustments to the relay crystals, so we could try the enchantments out again," he proposed, earning an excited look from Hermione.

"And it only took you, what, three and a half weeks," she replied sarcastically, earning a weird, questioning look in turn.

"Yes, three and a half weeks. Since when do you do sarcasm?" Harry asked, noticing a hint of… was it anger, in his voice?

Hermione, obviously immediately picking up on the fact that she was now dealing with a slightly miffed Harry Potter, rushed to placate him. "Sorry," she hurried out with a response, "it was a… trying day with Luna."

Immediately, Harry felt bad for making Hermione feel bad. Noticing that they currently were both unhappy, there was now a clear goal for Harry to achieve. "You want to tell me about it?" he asked, banning any anger from his voice.

"It wasn't even that much, really," Hermione began, before shaking her head a little and starting from the beginning of when she had stumbled upon Luna on the cold grounds.

"So, she was just sitting out there, waiting for Nargles?" Harry clarified; not that it was in any way far out there. It was probably even one of the more relatable things Luna did, but still rather unusual for the common person. Following Hermione's nod, he wanted to confirm one more thing and asked, "I still don't know what had you upset, though."

Under Harry's questioning gaze, Hermione was squirming a little, until she finally came out with something she had definitely not wanted to bring up, as far as Harry was able to tell. "I'm worried about Ginny," she blurted out, prompting Harry to turn his gaze into an even more questioning one.

"Why?" he asked, flummoxed. "I mean, yeah, her blushing is annoying, and I bet she has a photo album filled with Colin's work somewhere, but she's keeping her distance. No one tried to potion me since last year and Ron has been downright arduous in his studies. I might even be inclined to say Slytherin was good for him. Plus, he's keeping Malfoy occupied for us…"

It was indeed a comfortable situation: With Dumbledore still in the dark about what exactly had been the reason for Harry to fall ill almost a year ago the old meddler had not made any move to further engage with Harry (or Sirius, for that matter), and for as long as any Weasleys were not bothering either him personally or any of his friends, Harry had little reason to complain. Admittedly, Daphne and Tracey were a bit annoyed with the senseless infighting between Malfoy and Ronald, but even that had gotten better.

"And that is what has me worried," Hermione pulled him from out his thoughts. "Remember, these were people we _know _to be ready to curse and poison you. They will not just stop because it went wrong once. Dumbledore probably does not see the urgency to act without Voldemort showing any sign of regaining his strength at the moment, so he'll be lulling us into false hope. The Weasleys on the other hand, however many that might be, only have to lose the longer they wait. If the goal is for Ginny to snatch you, the closer you get to other people, the more suspicious it will be for you to suddenly abandon these people, and that would have to be what happens, because at this point, it would take a major and fast-acting love potion, something your friends would notice."

Having it laid out before him, Harry had to admit the genius of Hermione's increased paranoia. That was, of course in the same breath as admitting that it was extremely worrying.

"So, our plan of attack?" he asked his girlfriend.

"We continue doing what we were doing," came the disheartening response, "there's not much more we actually _can _do, without knowing everyone's agenda. Strengthen our position, sharpen our skills, gather allies…"

At this point, Hermione was interrupted by Harry slapping his forehead in frustration. "I can't believe we never thought of this," he proclaimed with a moderate amount of disbelief and annoyance at himself. "If Dumbledore has the Order and Voldemort has his Death Eaters, we will need people on our side, and I mean fighters, not our school-friends or relatives."

The idea certainly had appeal on top of making sense, and seemingly Hermione agreed. Harry watched his girlfriend incline her head in a way he had previously only seen in Luna.

"It would be helpful," Hermione commented, clearly pained by some issue coursing through her head. "I just have a problem with the idea of sending people into battle…"

"Stop," Harry interrupted her forcefully, following it up with an apologetic look at the woman looking at him with indignation. "It's just that you'll get yourself all in a twist over this, you know that. Just think, if we manage to arm people better, prepare them for actual war, don't our people stand a much better chance than Dumbledore's 'stunning only' party?"

In response, Hermione pressed her eyes closed for a few seconds, took a stealing breath, opened them again and looked at Harry with determination. "You're right," she agreed, "we'll need people to help us, and it can't only be our friends. It still poses a few problems, though. First, where do we find them? Second, who trains them? I doubt many grown-ups would accept training from two people looking like kids, even if one of them is Harry Potter. And where to put them? Potter Castle should stay a refuge and the caves are far from large enough to hold as large a number of people as we would need."

Harry thought about the issue she had raised for a few moments, until he came to the conclusion that they were all manageable nuisances. "For who to train and find them, I think MacGregor might make a good pick," he uttered his fresh ideas to Hermione, who looked immediately intrigued.

"MacGregor?" she asked, "do you really think she would leave Hogwarts behind?"

"Oh yes," Harry replied, "she probably won't have much choice." Prompted by Hermione looking at him dubiously, he expounded, "Think about it: The post is most likely cursed, meaning she will be gone by the end of year. So, given our record with DADA teachers, the only way to keep her from being killed, fired in disgrace or mind-wiped is making sure she's not a teacher here next year of her own, free will."

Hermione shrugged with her shoulders a little (a habit Harry noticed she must have picked up from him) and signalled her approval. The stern teacher might be inclined to a bit of theatricality from time to time, and her methods were certainly extreme, but maybe that was exactly what they needed. Also, nobody wanted the woman to die, as much was sure.

"And for finding some base of operations," Hermione piped up, clearly getting into the spirit of things, "we can ask Sirius to think of something. I shudder at the thought of what he might come up with, but at least it will be unpredictable. Get that mirror out and let's do this."

As he had been ordered, Harry pulled out the two-way mirror linked to Sirius and spoke his godfather's name into it. For over a minute nothing happened, until a severely dishevelled Sirius Black, who was obviously just getting into his shirt, appeared on the gleaming surface.

"Hey, you two," he greeted, panting a little, "to what do I owe this… honour."

Finding the whole situation rather hilarious, and worried Hermione would not be as amused, Harry began to talk as quickly as possible. "Are we interrupting anything?" he asked cautiously, "because we could call again tomorrow if you're… not alone?"

A wide grin snuck onto Sirius' face, prompting a snort from Hermione that sounded suspiciously like she was stifling a laugh. "Oh, no" he replied lightly, with a smug expression appearing on his face, "Anne-Mary was just going anyway. What is it?"

"Harry and I were thinking about bettering our chances against Dumbledore and Voldemort," Hermione explained, still smiling slightly at (Harry was assuming, of course) Sirius' exuberant happiness. "And we think assembling a group of fighters, like Dumbledore's order, but actually ready to do what's necessary…"

"And you want me to lead them," Sirius interrupted, half-jokingly, as well as clearly out to get a rise out of Hermione.

"And we need a base of operations for that group," she continued, completely unfazed by the interruption. "We were thinking you might be able to help with that."

Sirius took on a curious look, indicating he was thinking of something either spectacular, hilarious or both.

"How are your ideas on using technology along with magic?" Sirius asked, looking first at Harry and then at Hermione. "Because I think I have an idea for you."

"Electronics are fundamentally incompatible, only shielding the technology will work. Mechanics work just fine," Hermione replied, sounding not at all sure why Sirius thought this important suddenly. Sirius, for his part, seemed disinclined to elaborate.

"How about that thing where you wanted to power an engine with magic?" he asked Harry, turning his gaze onto his godson.

Deciding to not further question the man, knowing he was not going to get a real answer anyway, Harry answered, "In my den." In the mirror, Sirius was rubbing his hands in a way that was seriously worrying, yet somehow also exciting.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hi all,

Hope you could enjoy the chapter. Please, leave a review and enjoy you evening,

alexandertheII

PS: I'm already almost 4k words into the next chapter, so it will be out on the weekend.


	38. Chapter 38: Fuite en avant

**Chapter 38: Fuite en avant**

"Ready to try again?" Hermione asked him, just as he was climbing up the ladder and out of the new box they had recently acquired by way of house-elf delivery.

"I guess," Harry answered, still a bit miffed about both the first failed trial and the fact his 'new' broom had already passed into the land of the ancestors. "I just hope this works. Then Daphne would at least have something to do in hiding…"

Hermione nodded sadly in response, looking at him dejectedly. It was a sore spot for both of them, the idea that their return had brought up a situation in which a young girl… Harry stopped himself from fully thinking the last part of that thought. Daphne was no girl anymore, that much was clear. A decision like this was the kind of decision made by an adult. It seemed they were just living in times in which having a childhood was severely out of style.

"No reason to draw it out," Harry decided, just as he was standing safely on his own two feet in front of Hermione. "You want to do the honours? I don't really trust myself, after what happened to that poor broom…"

"Honestly," his girlfriend replied exasperatedly, "that was not your fault. So, your broom stopped working mid-flight. At least you were close to the ground. With how old that thing looked, I'm surprised it did not try killing you. The charms must have been really worn out over all the time it lay around in here."

With some grumbling, Harry accepted Hermione's point, but still he did not relent on the first usage of their second try at an enchantment for a Room of Requirement replica.

"Okay, what did you change?" Hermione asked for what felt like the umpteenth time. Presumptively noting his amused look, she responded, "What, I want to get this right. You put so much work into this…"

Seeing the insecurity in her eyes, Harry stepped closer, enveloped her in a hug and whispered into her ear, "You're not going to break it, okay? If this does not work, it will be because of some mistake in the enchantments." Stepping away from her again and looking into her warm brown eyes, he continued, "You don't have to do any walking up and down, just put your hand on the box, next to the hatch, and think of what you want the space in there to be. Maybe start with something simple first."

Announced by a nod that swished her curls all around her, Hermione made a step toward the box, where she squared her shoulders, bent down and put her hand on the smooth wood.

Nothing happened.

Ten seconds passed. Twenty seconds.

Still nothing.

Harry watched excitedly, as his girlfriend took her hand away from the wooden surface and gestured toward the entry hatch. Understanding she wanted him to be the one to open the (hopefully completely formed) room for the first time, and with the absolute certainty that she would not budge on this issue either, he stepped forward. Next to Hermione, he grabbed the small handle and pulled open his as-yet most complicated creation.

What extended before him exceeded his most imaginative ideas by a wide margin. It was not a complicated design, far from it actually; just a desk, a chair, some decoration and a number of filled bookshelves (of course). Still, up until now, Harry had been able to dismiss the idea of him being able to do this mostly on his own. Sure, Hermione had helped in engraving the enchantments and the practical application of it all, but the theoretical work, the weaving of runes and crystal lattices, had been done by Harry, and him alone.

"Didn't I tell you you were brilliant?" he was asked by the girl next to him, who then promptly pounced on him, putting her lips on his in a matter of moments. They did not go very far with their physical affection, as they both felt a little weird in doing these things with a child's body, even though their minds were all grown up, but in that moment, Hermione again showed him how attractive she thought creativity and an active mind were.

"And if you keep putting it like that, I might just start believing you," Harry answered as soon as Hermione let him out of her grasp, prompting an interesting mix of a smile and a frown to appear on her face. However, she obviously chose not to comment in that particular moment. Instead, she and Harry climbed down the stairs (obviously Hermione had thought of them as part of the room she imagined) to inspect the product of so much hard work.

"How much energy did the room cost?" Hermione asked when she noticed Harry looking at the one thing that would always remain the same whatever the user asked from the enchantments. It was a crystal array, meant to display the amount of 'charge' the crystal batteries, for lack of a better word, still held. It would not do to surprisingly run out, if ever one badly needed the box to transform.

"Not even five percent," Harry answered, critically looking over the readouts displayed on the thin sheath of blue lattice. "But it's neither complicated nor large, so that does not tell us much. How do the books look?"

Hermione, who had immediately dived into the cupboards filled with reading material, looked up, smiled and answered, "Everything seems complete, as far as I've seen," she responded, furiously looking through the book opened before her now. "All here…"

Internally laughing at the eagerness with which Hermione took to checking whether the enchantments had faithfully replicated the information they had obtained from the Room of Requirement's main crystal, Harry turned his eyes to the rest of the room. It was still hard to imagine he had achieved this, yet his eyes clearly told him he had.

"_One thing off the list," _he mused, _"thousands to go."_

OOOOOOOO

Hermione was tucking-and-rolling out of the way of what looked like a very unpleasant, overcharged pinching hex, and got to her feet a few yards away from where she had been standing only moments before.

In that very moment, in which she was just trying to reorient herself, her teacher struck, and her bum was hit by exactly the same type of spell she had evaded seconds earlier.

"Hit," she called out, leaving the professor to be the only one left standing. Again.

It was the last week before Christmas break, and Harry and Hermione had been spending more and more time with Professor MacGregor, getting to know the woman they were now intending to include in a lot of their plans. They had been constantly impressed by her attitude as well as her skills. However, one thing they had held out on until now, was actually telling the fierce witch they wanted her involved at all. This was to change before the break.

"Professor," Hermione began, prompting her boyfriend to stand next to her in a show of support, "we wanted to discuss a proposal with you. Do you remember our talk about keeping information safe? A few things came up on which we wanted your opinion."

Professor MacGregor nodded as if saying "go on" but kept silent as she expectantly watched the young couple in front of her.

"With how the things are going right now," Hermione continued with what she had thought up earlier, "we will need manpower sooner rather than later. The many Death Eaters that escaped punishment are a danger, the dementors are unreliable, while Dumbledore and his people are at best mildly helpful, at worst a liability for us and themselves. What we need are dedicated people who see the necessities of war as you yourself taught them to us; we want you to help train and lead these people."

Following Hermione's declaration, a few minutes of silence were spent by the professor obviously pondering the proposal she had been made. "I assume your offer would have me vacate my teaching job?" she finally asked, even though her tone made it clear she already knew that for a fact and was not pleased with it.

"It would," Hermione affirmed, "although I assume Dumbledore did not tell you about the curse on the position, at least not beyond what the general public knows, right?"

A one-sided, almost predatory smile gracing her lips, MacGregor replied, "Just assume he didn't, will you?"

"I thought as much," Harry installed himself into the conversation. "Ever since Voldemort, when he still had his original name, tried getting the position from the old man, each and every teacher has only lasted a year. So, you see, you might very well say that staying here would give you more of an opportunity to do good. Whether that would be a correct assessment, who knows. However, at the moment, the question is not, whether you will be here in the school helping train children or with our little… undertaking. The question now is, whether you want to be doing any training at all."

With the kind of information arrayed in front of her, and with her own knowledge probably at least corroborating Harry and Hermione's story, they had maneuvered the teacher into a corner.

"What would you expect of me," she eventually acquiesced to the almost inevitable.

"The aspect of secret-keeping is still on the table," Hermione picked up pretty much as if nothing had happened. "We won't expect you to do an Unbreakable Vow for now, that is if you want to know more. At the moment, we would expect you to sign a magical contract, stipulating you were not allowed to divulge information about our operations by penalty of deep unconsciousness, impenetrable to mind magic of any kind, to be rescinded only by one of us. That way, you cannot be forced to spill anything, and it protects you, should you ever be captured. There is no loyalty clause, so you could still refuse orders, but there is a section prohibiting you from working with our enemies. That is pretty much it."

Professor MacGregor had silently listened to the stipulations and actually did not seem as averse to them as Hermione had feared. Instead of commenting, she asked, "And what would I gain?"

"The backing of the Black and Potter fortunes, as much assistance as Black Enterprises is able to give and the command of our yet-to-be-founded group of freedom fighters. Mr. Black is currently trying to acquire a suitable base of operations; I know him well enough to say it will be unorthodox, but extremely effective, nonetheless. When we're done with Voldemort and the Death Eaters, you can be hailed as a hero or fade into obscurity. Whichever way you choose, you will be well taken care of."

Hermione watched as Maria MacGregor took a long breath, and she was able to discern the moment in which the older witch made the decision Hermione had been very much expecting; this was not a situation in which one had very many choices available.

"Fine," the teacher acquiesced, "what are the details?"

Content with the way things were going, Hermione was outlining the rest; not that it was a lot. The only thing left to say was that MacGregor was to remain a professor for the rest of the year, but that she would hand in her resignation after the holiday break. Maybe Dumbledore having enough time to find a suitable replacement for his teacher for a change would allow him to have two competent non-impostors in a row.

OOOOOOOO

In the darkness of the forests around the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, two people with the appearance of children were silently strolling through the trees. Harry and Hermione had snuck out after curfew through the Whomping Willow passage and were now making their way toward the edge of the woods closest to Hogsmeade Station.

Watching his breath freeze in the air, Harry silently thanked whoever had come up with warming charms and shuddered even more at the thought of braving the cold of a deep December night without magic on his side.

"I think this is a good spot," Hermione pressed out between her rattling teeth, already pulling out a bundle with provisions, ready for Daphne to claim the next day. "I'll set up the stash, you fake some tracks."

As had been extensively planned, Harry turned away from the edge of the forest and began creating some false tracks in the snow using a duplicate of the shoes Hermione had packed into the small satchel she was currently hiding. He extended the footprints up until the point where he reached the bed of a small river, where the snow he had been using was no longer available and the frozen ground simply not suited to holding any outline whatsoever. Now, if anyone were to follow these tracks, they would only be able to do that up until they reached the river, after which, they would be led on a fool's errand looking for where exactly the tracks left the frozen stream behind. Not that there would be any tracks doing that, anyway.

On the way back, Harry carefully concealed his own tracks, while putting preserving charms on the ones he wanted to be found. It had been a good deal of work to get this particular charm to work just the way he wanted, not too long and not too short, but he was confident he had managed as much. Taking all precautions not to leave any errant magic behind that would reveal his presence and, even worse, possibly his identity, Harry finally reached the spot where he had left Hermione. Just like her boyfriend, she was already erasing any trace of her presence, except the red scarf dangling from the tree under which she had hidden what Daphne would need for her getaway.

"Back to the school?" Harry asked the trembling woman in front of him, bathing her in the vapour that erupted just from speaking in these icy conditions.

"Definitely," Hermione clattered back. "You erase the tracks from our way here, I'll erase ours behind us. Now, let's get back into the warmth."

With as much hurry as the important task allowed, the couple silently traipsed back through the freshly fallen snow, until they finally reached the relative safety of the Shrieking Shack. "I hope the weather holds what the muggle weather forecast promised," Hermione mused, just as they were walking back through the secret passage under the wards. "Fresh snow tomorrow would really help us."

Harry, having not much in the way of an answer, simply shrugged and turned his gaze to the front, not wanting the unpleasant surprise of suddenly walking in on the Whomping Willow without first hitting the paralysing knot of roots. Already restarting his shivering at the idea of having to go through the cold again (even if the way to the last secret passage was short), Harry with Hermione close behind, reached the exit of the dark, dusty passage.

Some very cold minutes later, the two were intently studying the Marauder's Map directly next to the exit of their secret passage on the seventh floor. Assured that there was indeed no one there to spot them opening the concealed door, Harry was just reaching for the handle when a thought struck him.

"I…" he began, looking at his Hermione in the cold light of their wands.

"Would you like to go to the Room with me?" she finished the thought he had just started thinking himself. "I would," Hermione answered the question she herself had posited.

So, when they snuck out of the secret passage, instead of turning their steps toward Gryffindor tower, as had been their earlier plan, they made way for the Room of Requirement. It fell on Harry to imagine their room for the night, and as they entered, Harry was as pleased with what he had come up with as Hermione seemed to be; a wide, comfy-looking bed, a little bathroom, a warm fireplace. Nothing fancy, but just what they needed for the moment.

Following their evening ablutions, they were now snuggled close to each other in their transfigured clothes and under the warm blankets. It was a peaceful, happy moment. Yet, for some reason Harry could not sleep.

"Harry," he heard Hermione whisper so silently he almost thought he imagined it. "Are you still awake?" He simply nodded in response, not trusting his own voice for some reason. "Can't sleep either?" Another nod.

Some time, Harry had no idea whether a long or a short amount of it, later, Hermione began talking again. "I'm scared for Daphne," she admitted. "Tomorrow, everything will go as planned, I'm sure, but what about the aftermath? This could break her…"

Still not trusting his own voice, Harry hummed in response. He knew Hermione liked it when he made his body vibrate with the note he held; she said it was tickling her, but in a comforting way.

"I mean, do we even know how long she will have to stay in hiding?" his girlfriend continued openly voicing the doubts that had been nagging on Harry's mind the whole time they had been planning their friend's daring escape. "The way she talks about this, she sounds so sure about everything, but how can she be…"

Now, Harry felt himself compelled to add his thoughts. "No parent should put such a decision on their child," he declared, voice laced with both sorrow and anger. His throat felt severely constricted, and he noticed that his eyes were conspicuously wet.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione responded sadly, who sounded as if she had a frog in her throat as well, moving up on his torso, wiping a sole tear from his right cheek and kissing the very same spot tenderly. That broke the dam for Harry, and with a now equally crying woman in his arms, he kissed Hermione on the head and pulled her closer.

A lot of time later, that might well have been hours, or maybe just a minute, Harry heard the silent, even breaths of his sleeping girlfriend. He followed her shortly.

OOOOOOOO

Daphne Greengrass was trembling with fear. And anticipation. And excitement. And more fear. And guilt.

In fact, there was a whole lot of things she was feeling she was not even able to effectively verbalise. In just a few short hours, she would be leaving behind everything she had ever known. Now that she was thinking back on it, what she had almost sounded worth going through what her father had planned for her.

Then she imagined the people who would respond to a proposal like her father's, gaining a bride for political clout and influence; sadly, there were lots of these people, but more importantly, none of them were people she wanted to be seen with. That was without even thinking of the prospect of being married to one of them.

With a last shuddering breath of her old life, the black-haired Slytherin rose from beneath her blankets to face the most momentous day of her life yet. That face turned out to be the face of her best friend Tracey, the very best friend she had been unable to tell what exactly was going on, for fear of endangering the girl. Also, in a way, she was sure Tracey would not understand; she was always tough on the outside, but beneath all the toughness, that did indeed reach way down to her core, she was a sheltered kid. The idea of the Davis parents ever being involved in something the likes of her father had been planning for his older daughter was almost laughable; there was no way she would be able to understand.

The only other big regret Daphne had was not being able to tell her sister, not being able to say goodbye.

"Daph, are you okay?" Tracey asked, worry lacing her voice thickly. Not really feeling up to talking, Daphne just nodded and made her way to the bathroom, where she proceeded to throw a generous amount of _very _cold water into her face.

"Get a grip on yourself," she told the bleary-eyed Mirror-Daphne.

Breakfast passed almost in a blur. While she was able to notice and acknowledge the topics of conversation among her friends, including herself and how differently she was acting, she simply could not contribute anything worthwhile to the conversation. 'No, yes, didn't sleep well,' were the only words her vocabulary seemed to have available for the moment.

Before she knew it, the students were being herded out of the main gate and into the horseless carriages. She shared one with Harry, Hermione, Tracey and Neville, the first two of which gave her short, encouraging smiles.

Almost feeling like she assumed being under the Imperius curse had to, she left behind the carriage and followed the others to the train. Only a few minutes left, and it would finally be time to _do _something. Whatever the outcome of that something turned out to be, it had to be better than having to wait like this.

"Hey Daphne, are you okay?" Susan asked, just after the group had settled down into a compartment, with only Neville, Hannah and Luna sitting somewhere else. Time to act.

"Yeah," Daphne responded absently, "just need to go to the loo." The severely flustered girl put the small, space-expanded pack she had bought over her shoulder. Everything she could not do without, everything of which the sentimental value could not be replicated or rebought was in there, thoroughly vetted for any tracking enchantments by Harry and Hermione.

With shaky steps, Daphne started making her way to the loo, just as she had told her friends; only, she did not stay at the worn-out facilities. Instead, acting just like one of the many students still milling about, she slowly encroached on the junctions between the two carts. There, she was to get off the train and beat for the close edge of the forests.

"Greengrass," she heard the sneering and very unwelcome voice of none other than Draco Malfoy. "Finally tired of the riffraff you hang around with now, looking for some people of real station? Because, once we start getting to know each other," the blonde creep had the gall to send a lecherous sneer her way, "_better_, those will be the only people you are to associate with. Do you want to join us in our compartment?"

The self-declared Slytherin prince motioned for the closest compartment door, which revealed none less than Pansy Parkinson, who was staring at Daphne as if she had just stolen and then brutally murdered a puppy, as well as Crabbe and Goyle. The two brickheads were giving her the exact same lecherous stare she had just received from Draco, only without the guile one could (sometimes) see reflected in the Malfoy son. The idea of having to suffer through that, followed by a marriage to Draco Malfoy, shook Daphne from her partial stupor. Time to think of a diversion, and quick. Something that was almost guaranteed to make any male at least non-interested in further conversation.

"Sure, Draco," she answered in what she hoped sounded at least somewhat enthusiastic, "but first I have to… powder my nose. My monthly visitor, you understand?"

With an almost _disgusted _sniff (suddenly, Daphne was thankful for the way Draco had been raised) the Malfoy heir returned to his seat and closed the door, probably to tell his disgusting pigs for friends how enthusiastic she already was to become his partner in matrimony. Daphne on her part, was now free to pursue her actual goal of getting off the train; luckily, her escape had been timed to account for unforeseen interruptions.

Now with more haste to her steps, Daphne weaved through the dwindling hordes of her classmates, all of them excitedly blabbering about this or that, whatever they were planning on doing over the holidays. How much she envied them…

With little time to spare before the train was to leave, she finally reached the exit, where she put a disillusionment charm over herself; nothing strong, but hopefully it would be enough to let her get away from the train without any stray observers spotting her escape. Against all her expectations, everything went off without a hitch: In an unseen moment, Daphne opened the door and slipped out of the train cart and into the cold winter air of Hogsmeade. Internally wincing at the footsteps she was leaving behind, although she knew they were an important part of the plan, the girl carefully made her way for the edge of the forest. There, hidden by the trees, she found the red scarf and the package it denoted: A _complete _change of clothes, including a heavy cloak, as well as a little amulet.

Somehow, she knew Harry had picked this for her portkey; nothing special, but it showed at least someone cared for her as an actual person. Shuddering at the thought of changing clothes in these conditions, Daphne longed for the ability of using her magic, something she had been expressly forbidden from doing. No casting away from any place where magic would be expected (like the Express), until they got her a new wand no one could have tampered with. So, instead of being behind cushy warming charms, she sucked it up and started undoing the various fastenings on her clothes. Layer for layer went away, and with them went layer upon layer of the life she had known. In the distance, she could hear the scarlet steam engine whistle its departure.

"No going back now," she told herself, as she reached the very last layer of cloth that was protecting her decency. With a decisive squaring of her jaw, Daphne slipped her panties down her legs, so that she was standing in the snowy forest naked as the day she was born. With the icy winds providing enough of an incentive, barely a minute passed until the now trembling girl was fully clothed again.

Casting a last, melancholy glance back toward where the plume of steam and smoke of the Hogwarts Express was vanishing into the distance, she grabbed the blue crystal amulet and whispered, "To safety!"

A tug behind the navel later, Daphne Greengrass was being whisked away.

OOOOOOOO

The incessant droning being emitted by Pansy was starting to severely grate on Draco's nerves. Usually he would enjoy the girl's fawning adoration, but after recently having earned the future _enjoyments _of an attractive wife with proper station, that was just feeling empty; not to mention extremely boring. She never came up with anything new anymore.

"_Oh Draco, they really should let you make more decisions at Hogwarts. With you at the helm, the worthless mudbloods would never be allowed to study with those that are of proper descent. One day, you will be Minister and put them all in their place,"_ he mentally imitated. These things were all true, of course, but the brainless adoration with which Pansy said them was really getting old. Also, the idea of breaking some of Daphne's less endearing character traits, most importantly her strong-headedness, both in and out of his bed excited Draco more than he was ready to admit.

Alas, looking for her did seem like too much work. After the holidays she would not be able to escape him anymore, so these few hours she was now spending somewhere else were really not worth getting up for to prevent them.

OOOOOOOO

"Guys, Daphne has been gone a really long time," Tracey observed as their journey was nearing the half hour mark. "Maybe we should go look for her."

Harry tried very hard to not look at Hermione guiltily; though it pained them quite a bit, they had agreed to not inform their friends of why exactly Daphne was nowhere to be seen. At least as long as there was still dust in the air from the bombshell that was about to drop when they reached London, at the latest.

"She was really out of sorts earlier," Susan commented. "I think we should try finding and offering our help to her."

The eagerness with which this idea was accepted among all the occupants of the compartment was heart-warming to watch, and only served to further fuel Harry's guilty conscience. Still, for the moment, keeping their friends out of the loop was safer for them, Harry and Hermione and, most crucially, Daphne.

"Let's do that," Hermione affirmed their friends' opinion. "We can take half an hour to go up and down the train, see if we can find her. If we don't…" Sometimes, Hermione's ability to play uninformed was really scary. "If we don't find her, we should talk to the head students in their cart."

And that was exactly what happened; the allotted half hour after they had begun their search, in which Harry and Hermione only participated to avoid arousing suspicion, had passed without a sign of the elder Greengrass daughter. Now, the whole group of friends was accumulated in the carriage always employed by the head students and the prefects for rides like these, before the Ravenclaw head girl and her Hufflepuff partner.

"We've already been all over the train, and she's nowhere to be found," Tracey reported the events worriedly. "Last we saw her was before we left; she said she wanted to go to the restroom, but she never came back…"

"She really hasn't been herself lately," Susan added, worry creasing her normally carefree face. The faces of the head students did not react much differently, as they took a look at first the lower years before them, then at each other.

"Aurors?" the girl asked.

"Aurors!" the boy answered.

Both were looking incredibly wary.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Ha-ha, gotcha again.

Cliffies, cliffies, all these great great cliffies.

It is so tremendous, folks, it's almost… sad. I ask you to leave a review, because I always enjoy them bigly.

alexandertheII

PS: Someone recently wanted to know in a review, what the Latin phrases in the ritual that brought Hermione's memory back were all about. I already answered that person in a PM, but thought it pertinent to put in here as well.

Corpus est fessus, sed animus recordari vult

The body is weak, but the mind wishes to remember

Ergo recorda!

Therefore, remember!

Nunc expergisce et memento mori

The last part is more complicated. Firstly, in the text on FFN there is a mistake I haven't corrected yet: Instead of expergisci, it has to be expergisce, making what was formerly an infinitive into an imperative. Therefore, the first part of that sentence is simply 'Now, awake!'

The second halve is from medieval monks' Latin, and probably derived from the longer 'Memento moriendum esse' meaning 'Consider, that you have to die.' The shortened phrase is a common vanitas symbol, meaning a symbol indicating the inability of humanity to overcome death. Other common would be a skull, or the hourglass (hence the picture for my story).


	39. Chapter 39: Of Searching and Finding

**Chapter 39: Of Searching and Finding**

With a swirl of colour and snow, Daphne appeared in what seemed like a snowy forest, not unlike the one she had just left. For a moment she feared the portkey had not worked and somehow, she was still at Hogsmeade, to be found by the aurors shortly and be carted back to her family. However, as she took in her surroundings, it became apparent she had indeed changed location; she was no longer at the edge of the forest, the trees looked different and, most importantly, in front of her rose a tent.

Fully aware as she was of the fact that the protections for her hiding place still had to be put into place, even though she did not really know, what those protections were, Daphne had been prepared to be waiting for at least until after the Express had reached London. To be able to spend that time inside a tent, instead of outside, seemed infinitely preferable. Just as the black-haired girl stepped through the tent flaps into what turned out to be quite roomy accommodations, the reality of her situation hit her. Up until that moment, it had all somehow seemed unreal; now, however, one thing was brutally clear: Daphne Greengrass was on the run.

And with that realisation came another: she felt guilty, incredibly so. Guilty for abandoning her sister to the same fate, guilty for lying to her friends.

Guilty for being happy about having done it, anyway.

Suddenly all energy drained out of her body, Daphne collapsed on the cot, still in her outdoor clothing, and began crying in earnest.

OOOOOOOO

Senior auror Johnson was not having a good day. First, he had been called into the office of his boss, only to be yelled at by both Madam Bones and Head auror Scrimgeour for misplacing a dark artefact. So, what, if a cursed coin from the Templars' fortune was not in evidence lockup. Who cared? But, according to both his boss and his boss' boss, loosing evidence was not tolerable, and he had been put on emergency duty for two months. Two months of reacting to the emergency calls of people who had no idea who to actually call, so they just called the aurors.

"Lucius better pay me well for that damn coin," he grumbled silently, sipping on the stale tea available in the aurors' ready room. The morning had only gone downhill from there, as the emergency calls had started coming in: An old lady who could not figure out the difference between a home-invasion and a doxy-infestation, a group of young wizards who had been drinking _way _too much and become rowdy… Who drank enough to become rowdy before 11 in the morning?

"Johnson, you're up," Rufus 'lion's mane' Scrimgeour barked from the door, eliciting an annoyed sigh from the auror, who started to slowly rise from the couch while downing his tea in one, large gulp. "Missing person, 13-year-old Daphne Greengrass, gone missing from the Hogwarts Express or Hogsmeade Station. You have 10 people to mount a search. And Johnson," the head auror gave his subordinate a hard stare, "make it a thorough one. If you muck this up, you will be lucky to get the night shift as wand registrar. I won't even have to demote you myself."

At hearing the name of the missing girl, something tingled in the back of Johnson's mind. _"Greengrass, Greengrass…" _he thought about the name over and over again, until finally he knew where it had recently come up. Suddenly, Scrimgeour's threat sounded much more… well, threatening, as well. Lucius Malfoy, during one of his informal gatherings, had let slip how much of a favourable deal he had brokered to attain a bride for his heir. He was suddenly filled with more motivation than he had expected, for certainly, bringing back the young Malfoy's bride would bring immense favour with the influential family, not to forget the Greengrasses themselves.

"Yes sir," he snapped out, his sudden eagerness prompting a dubious glance from his superior. "Can you send eight people to intercept the Express and two to meet me at the station?"

Scrimgeour just had the time to nod, before the feeling of being pressed through a narrow tube enveloped his auror.

After spending some time looking over things at Hogsmeade Station, the elation Johnson had felt was ever growing: While it might have been a small leap of faith to assume the tracks leading away from the railway belonged to the Greengrass girl, his trust in his own luck was rewarded, when the aurors he had ordered to follow them came upon the scattered remains of a Hogwarts school uniform, partially buried under snow. Excitedly, Johnson went to the spot at the edge of the woods where one of his subordinates was waving for him.

"Looks like she hid some clothes here, maybe some supplies as well. Runaway?" Matthews, the still _very _green rookie auror posited. It was the most likely theory, Johnson had to admit, even though he would never say so out loud. If he ever repeated this theory out loud, it would have been his theory.

Worriedly glancing at the slowly falling snow and the gradually vanishing footprints, Johnson made an executive decision. "Call everyone here, let the Express continue. I want everyone to follow these tracks," he ordered, aware that he probably had a greedy glint in his eyes. Oh, the treasures he would get from Lucius if he handled this right.

"But, boss…" Matthews tried to bring something up with the typical arrogance of youth, "what if…"

"Just do as you're told," Johnson quickly silenced the insufferable know-it-all. He had thirty years of experience as senior auror; how would he need advice from a green rookie?

OOOOOOOO

"So, the last time you saw Miss Greengrass…" the elderly man asked, for what felt like the umpteenth time.

"The last time we saw Daphne was when we all got into the compartment and she said she had to go to the restroom," Hermione replied, clearly getting annoyed with the wispy wizard, who seemed entirely too old and forgetful to be part of a force like the aurors. "When she was away for over half an hour, we started getting worried and went to look for her. After we did not find her, we alerted the head students."

The man taking their witness statement wrote down what he had heard in an agonizingly slow pace (as if DictaQuills did not exist), all the while making noises like 'Hmm' and 'Mmm'. "And do you have any idea, what might have prompted her state of mind as of recently," the monotonously speaking man went on; at least he had finally asked something else, because the former question had started to severely grate on Harry's nerves.

"Well…" he began, looking at his friends apologetically, "we know she had some problems at home. Hermione and I just happened to find out, and we don't know any details other than that."

The 'Hmm' and 'Mmm' sounds from the glorified scribe continued, obviously meant to indicate his state of listening for more. In that very moment, another member of the eight-person team that had stopped and boarded the train stuck her head into the compartment where their statement was being taken.

"Michaels," the younger woman said, "the boss wants to see us all at Hogsmeade Station. They found some footprints and what looks like a stash; seems we got a runaway."

Shock was visible on many a face throughout the compartment, even though Harry was aware there were two faces on which that particular emotion had to be fake; there was his own, of course, and that of Hermione. In fact, the only reason any of the two of them could have been shocked, was the apparent hitchlessness with which their plan seemed to be going off.

"All the better," Michaels declared, closing the notepad he had used up until that moment. "Imagine the amount of paperwork a missing person with a presumed crime would have meant. They could only see the offended look on the younger auror's face for a moment, before their compartment door was being forced shut and silence engulfed the group.

It lasted, until the train began to move again. "I knew it was bad at Daphne's," Tracey mumbled, looking incredibly guilty. "But I had no idea it was that bad…"

An equally shocked look on her face, Susan scooted closer to her friend, raised her arm and slung it around the aggrieved girl.

"What I don't understand is, why didn't she tell anyone?" Susan questioned no one in particular. "We could have helped her."

From the corner in which Neville had found shelter after they had all piled up in the one compartment to give each other encouragement, a snort could be heard. Immediately, all eyes focused on the boy sitting in that very corner; however, the once shy boy did not wither away from the attention this time. Instead, he looked at them all intently, before declaring, "No, we couldn't have. Susan, Tracey, you know how strong the hierarchies are in the old families, how harsh the laws. We might have no idea what Daphne's problem was, but we know, if it was with her family, there was no way in which we could have helped."

With the dejected nods of the addressed girls confirming Neville's assessment of the situation, another tense silence settled over the convened youth. That is, until it was broken by the most unusual, yet somehow also most predictable person.

"She will be okay," Luna Lovegood declared dreamily, yet with a conviction that belied her usual 'head-in-the-clouds' personality. Following Luna's completely unsubstantiated, yet somehow calming statement, silence fell again. This one lasted for a very long time.

The rest of the ride was a rather uncomfortable one.

OOOOOOOO

Sirius Black was nervously strolling up and down the platform, looking into the distance from time to time. Whenever he glanced up and down the amassed parents and guardians on the platform, he could see he was not the only one to be doing that. Aurors showing up, taking two of the parents and a girl with them, and in the same breath announcing the train was being delayed would do that. The lack of further information coming to them did the rest.

Of course, Sirius was aware of the reason the train was being delayed, and that the reason for the delay was, while not exactly something _good_, at least much less bad than it might have seemed. However, it was not like he could tell that to the other people waiting there nervously. Honestly, being aware of the goings-on behind the current situation did not help ease Sirius' nerves in any way; so much was riding on this day, not the least of which was a young woman being able to exercise her right of self-determination. Also, there was his admittedly crazy idea for a base of operations. Through a stroke of luck Sirius had actually already been able to implement the hardest part of the plan, and he desperately hoped the two time-travellers would accept his idea.

"_They can be really scary," _popped up in his head as a random thought, making the marauder shiver a little. Yes, especially Hermione sometimes was scary.

That was the moment the scarlet steam engine pulling their sons and daughters home first started being visible in the distance, the light on the front and the white plume announcing its presence to the waiting crowd of parents and guardians. However, with the descending speed of the train and the distance from which they had been able to spot it against the background of the early darkness, it took another five minutes for the locomotive to roll into the train-station. During these five minutes, the feeling of tension that had partly evaporated from the platform at the first sighting of the Express in the distance more than recuperated. Sirius knew all too well that the only way he would be able to calm down completely was to wrap his arms around his godson and (somewhat surprisingly) Hermione.

Almost as if to spite him, their group was one of the last to disembark the train. As a small token of revenge, Sirius chose to do something he knew his godson would definitely dislike. And it was not because Sirius needed this now. Definitely not.

A public display of affection.

Letting barely a moment pass before grabbing the boy (man, man in a boy's body, whatever) in a tight hug he knew would knock the breath out of anyone.

"Good to see you, too," Harry managed to press out. "Need… air…"

Only leaving a little moment between the two, Sirius let go of his godson and zeroed in on his godson's girlfriend. A mere second later, the marauder had his arms full of the bushy-haired woman that seemed more and more like a second half of his pup.

"Hey, Sirius," Hermione greeted him, breathing a little easier than her boyfriend; Sirius liked her, but if his hugs were to respond to how _much _he cared for someone, Harry would have to get the tightest ones.

"Let's go quickly," the Lily-eyed James-replica said (weird thought, but what could you do?), "someone needs to get out of the cold."

Despite the ambiguity of the statement, Sirius immediately understood what Harry was implying. Before putting up the Fidelius charm they could not risk bringing Daphne to their hideout, but the longer they waited with getting her behind a Fidelius, the more time the Greengrass family had to use any tracking implements they might have. Not to mention the fact that it was a cold winter's day, and Daphne was hiding in a tent.

"You're completely right," he therefore agreed with his godson, and proceeded to inform him, "everything's ready for you two."

OOOOOOOO

Harry was standing opposite his girlfriend in one of the rooms in their 'bat-cave'. He watched, fascinatedly, as the woman he loved was standing still as a salt-pillar, head slightly lowered, and eyes closed. Her right hand was holding one of her wands, while the left was strongly gripping his own right one. She had been standing there, exactly the same, for almost ten minutes now, the only movement being her thorax rising and lowering with her breath.

Suddenly, and without any warning, Harry felt the drain on his magical reserves. It was more intense than at any point during their training, or any point in his entire lives for that matter. The only thing that came even remotely near, now that he was thinking about it, was his and Voldemort's 'duel' in the graveyard of Little Hangleton. As the drain on his own magic started getting hard to bear, Harry reached out with his senses to the energy in the wards of Potter Castle, for the first time since he had set foot onto the grounds of his family's property.

The sensation, for there was no better word to describe what was neither seeing, nor feeling or anything else, was almost overwhelming. If Harry had been forced to describe it, it would have been a humming, warm, inviting yet also terrible force; rather confusing, really.

He was pulled out of his reverie by the ever-increasing draw on his power Hermione's magic was causing; motivated by the eerie feeling of growing weak on his knees without any kind of physical exertion, he tapped into the vast ocean of power he had just felt surrounding his ancestral home. If observing this kind of energy from afar was humbling and confusing, feeling it run through him was downright scary. All over his body, Harry could feel the hairs rise to form goose-bumps, and he had to carefully control the flow of energy, lest it do any damage.

As quickly as it had started the draw was gone, forcing Harry to suddenly snap shut the stream of power he was receiving through the wards from the magical nexus beneath the castle. Even with his well-honed reflexes, he took a little longer than he would have liked, leaving some of what he had already drawn into him stranded there.

Shaking violently for a few seconds as he was bleeding off the excess energy, Harry watched as Hermione continued with her silent casting. With the first part of the spell done, it was now time for his girlfriend to construct the anterograde aspect, the part that would only allow people to perceive the secret if it was being told by the secret keeper. This fact also led him to focus more of his attention on the man sitting on a chair close to the couple that was occupying the centre of the room.

With Harry and Hermione being away for most of the year, using either of them as the secret keeper was simply not a practical concept; Sirius on the other hand had constant access to the location being protected.

The location being protected…

Harry suddenly realised he had no idea what exactly they were protecting with the Fidelius charm Hermione was working so hard getting to work. At least he knew the retrograde aspect of the spell had done its job, hopefully only leaving Hermione and Sirius in the know about… whatever place they were trying to protect.

In his hands, Harry's godfather was almost cradling a small, clear-blue crystal, that would anchor the charm in place, keeping it focused on their hideout in… wherever. Strictly speaking, using a crystal was not really necessary, but with the ease at which they could be grown, _not _using one became more costly all of a sudden; leaving the charm without fastening was a distinct possibility, and often done, but it allowed the anterograde effect of the Fidelius to fade over time. Given that they had no idea how long exactly they would need this hideout, or how long the charm would hold after Hermione had been severely depleted in the retrograde aspect, it just seemed like an unnecessary risk.

Several minutes passed, and Harry was starting to succumb to his tired state of mind, when he noticed the look of concentration slipping away from Hermione's face, to be replaced by a smile. A moment later, he could see her limbs giving out, prompting him to make a dash for her side and grab his girlfriend to gently ease her way down to the ground. However, Harry had not counted on how winded he himself was, after channelling vast amounts of power through his body to aid in the invocation.

Harry was just beginning to lose control of his legs, with darkness approaching upon his senses, as he felt a strong arm grab first him, then Hermione. In his rapidly diminishing field of view, Sirius Black appeared with a surprisingly serene expression on his face, that was coupled with a good bit of joy.

"Seems to have strained you quite a bit, as well," he muttered, throwing a smile at his godson. "Did it work, did you forget the place?" With an even broader smile, in reaction to Harry's nod, Sirius went on, "Good, I'll put you two to bed and get Daphne out of the cold."

OOOOOOOO

It had been a good while now since she had arrived, Daphne did not know exactly how long, and she had cried herself dry; in fact, she had been crying long enough for her to get a pounding headache from it. Or maybe it was from the little amount of fitful sleep she had enjoyed. Or the overall stress of her situation.

With her pounding head demanding action, she carefully swung her legs over the edge of the cot she had collapsed on minutes, or hours, earlier. With a steadying breath to slow her pounding heart (that was not helping with her pounding pain in any way), the dark-haired girl got up and took a look around her very temporary domicile. There was not that much to be seen, if one were to be honest; a small communal room holding a utilitarian kitchen and table, as well as the cot, and one side-chamber she assumed held a bathroom.

As she let her searching eyes gaze over the sparse furnishing, Daphne spotted what she had been longing for all along: a pitcher of clear, inviting water, standing right there on the kitchen table. Next to it, there was a large glass. Three bounding steps later, Daphne was in front of the table, and greedily started to pour the crystal-clear liquid first into the glass and then into her parched throat. As soon as she had emptied out the first portion, another followed, and then another, until she could feel and hear her tummy gurgling in protest to the amounts it was being forced to accommodate on such short notice.

Daphne, however, did not care in the least about how uncomfortable the cold water was feeling, now that she had filled herself to the brim; the important thing was that now this incredible thirst was starting to dissipate, and the pounding in her head was starting to lessen into a dull throbbing. Again, overcome with the gravity of what had just occurred, with a good amount of guilt creeping up on her again, as well, Daphne went back to sit down on the cot. Suddenly feeling very cold, and incredibly lonely, she pushed the shoes off her feet, got out of the coat, and pulled her knees up, hugging them to herself. And that was how she fell asleep, finally succumbing to the days, maybe weeks of exertion and unrestful night.

She was awoken what must have been hours later, even though it only felt like seconds, by the sound of apparition reverberating in the silence outside the tent. Within barely ten seconds, Daphne managed to get up, grip her wand and train it on the entrance. She was fully aware that if anyone had shown up with intentions to take her back to her father's political machinations, she was in no way prepared to deal with the kind of adversary that would get her; still, she would definitely go out kicking and screaming.

"Daphne, you in there?" she heard the voice of Sirius Black, Harry's godfather. They had only talked briefly, of course, but his voice was quite distinctive. Something wasn't right though: why was Sirius getting her, and not Harry and Hermione?

However, the moment he strode through the entrance of the tent, all those doubts were swept away with one simple thing: the black-haired man was smiling at her in a friendly, if mischievous way. With everything that had been going on, being smiled at like that had not exactly been common recently, at least not as common as she had needed it to be. Without wasting a lot of time, Daphne rushed forward to envelop the stunned man in a fierce hug, all the while silently vowing her two friends who had pulled this off for her would be receiving the exact same treatment later.

Sirius, for his part, stiffened up palpably for a moment, surprised by the sudden close physical contact.

"Hello Daphne," he greeted her courteously, a teasing smile on his face. "What have I done to earn the honour of being ambush-hugged?"

Relishing the opportunity to join in on the gentle teasing he had begun Daphne replied, "Just great to see a happy and smiling face; I would've hugged anyone coming through there, and Harry and Hermione would have been much preferable."

Feigning distress at being considered the lesser alternative over his own godson, the man grabbed at his heart as if tearing it out of his chest, while putting his other hand on his forehead in a show of improvised and greatly overemphasised drama. However, to Daphne the question had been holding a true core; she actually was at least tentatively worried about her two friends' absence.

"Don't worry, they're just fine," Sirius quickly allayed her fears. "They've done some very draining casting and are now passed out on the bed in the place where we're planning on hiding you." Giving her a wicked grin and a wink, he went on, "The bat-cave is located on the outskirts of Potter Castle's grounds, in the caves on the cliffsides. Now, please step outside the tent for a bit, I need to pack it up."

And that was exactly what he did; in short order, the gifted wizard had first collapsed then stored the tent, then wiped away any trace of it ever being in the snowy forest. Moments later, the protective charms had also been purged, leaving the spot as if nothing magical had ever happened to it.

"Being a prankster pays off, at least sometimes," he whispered conspiratorially, "you get really good at covering your tracks." With his voice now back to normal, Sirius inquired, "Have you ever side-along apparated before?" After receiving a nod from Daphne, the man gently took her arm, put a firm grasp on it and whirled them away into the protection of the bat-cave.

OOOOOOOO

When Harry woke up the next time, it was to the gentle snores and comforting weight of the girl he loved next to him. With his senses now coming online, as well as his conscious mind making a full return, he also realised what had been the reason for his exit from dreamland; he had one of his own hands lying on his face, right in the spot where something had hit him quite hard, jostling him awake just moments before. And crushed under his hand was what had made his hand do this rather uncommon manoeuvre: a lock of Hermione's hair had snuck its way under his nose, tickling in just the right way to make him hit himself in the face.

With him now stirring, and admittedly chuckling intensively at his iteration of an alarm-clock, the girl next to Harry was starting to rouse as well. A groaning sound was followed by an increase in pressure from the arms enveloping him.

"What time is it?" Hermione muttered, quite clearly still affected by the last remnants of sleep.

Realising he was still in the clothes he had… yes, fallen unconscious the evening before, Harry pulled one of his custom-built wands from his arm-holster and quickly cast a 'time' charm. "Half-past six," he relayed to the comforting mass of hair nestled into his side. Suddenly, that very mass of hair was replace by the face the hair belonged to, and an extremely groggy Hermione Granger looked at him, bleary-eyed, yet also filled to the brim with palpable excitement.

"I'd be angry with you for waking me," she groaned before, with much clearer voice and lightening mood, she continued, "but now that I'm awake anyway, I won't be able to go back to sleep, and I want to see how Daphne is feeling."

In that very moment, another presence inside the room chose to make themselves known. With a start, Harry noticed that the light snoring he had initially attributed to his girlfriend had not dissipated with that very girlfriend's now awakened state; instead, they both turned to face the origin of the noise, to find Daphne fast asleep in a padded armchair close to the alcove the couple had spent the night in.

Without another word, they silently slipped out of the room, leaving their troubled friend to sleep off the terribly draining time she had just gone through.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hi all,

Just to inform you, chapters will be coming in farther in between for a while, because the microbiologists saw fit to torture us with a lot of content (that's probably a good thing for any future patients, though). Therefore, I sadly have less time to devote to writing.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please leave a review.

alexandertheII


	40. Chapter 40: Several Serious Talks

**Chapter 40: Several Serious Talks**

"Morning, you two," Sirius greeted them happily as he strode into the main room of their hideout, looking quite done up in a double-breasted, navy-blue suit. With purpose to his steps, the marauder made for the tea Harry and Hermione had prepared when they had first risen from the sleep of the just, and which now simmered away in a self-heating pot. Having filled a mug with hearty, warming and invigorating English breakfast blend, the man leaned back into the wall and smiled at the young couple, as if nothing was the matter.

Finally, Hermione, never one too patient with getting information, snapped. "Fine Sirius; as you won't tell us without any prompting: why are you wearing that?" she asked, a little miffed, going by the sound of her voice.

Sirius, ever the performer and not to be cowed by Hermione's archness for which, as Harry knew quite well, he was not the (sole) reason, took a sweeping bow followed by a grin. "This, my friends, is an indication of what a great base of operations I have found for us!" he declared pompously, sticking one of his hands through the gap between two buttons the same way Harry had seen a picture of Napoleon do. After some time without any further clarification on what exactly Sirius had planned for them, Harry and Hermione went back to nursing their teas and looking at the playful child-in-an-adult's-body with a mix of trepidation and eagerness.

That tense atmosphere was shattered by the surprising entrance of a fourth person; with a subdued quality to her, Daphne slowly made her way to the pot and started pouring herself a generous amount. Seeing her feeling down like this was painful for Harry, so without further ado, he rose from the spot in which he had been sitting, strode toward the black-haired girl and wrapped her up in a (hopefully) comforting hug, all the while being cautious to not rattle the hand with the scalding hot tea.

As Harry let go of his friend, he managed to catch a short glimpse at her pale face; there were streaks of salt visible where tears had run down her face. However, he did not have much time to take in her appearance, because directly after being released from Harry's grasp, Daphne was being wrapped up in one of Hermione's crushing hugs; obviously keeping an eagle's eye on the proceedings, Sirius just managed to hit the mug with a freezing charm, keeping both women from being burned by the hot liquid.

Now, safely ensconced in the warm cocoon of Hermione's arms, Daphne let herself go, her body wracked by sob after sob, her back being gently stroked by the incredibly awkward looking woman holding her. Harry could not understand what each of them were saying, but the tone of both their voices was acutely discernible, Hermione's soothing tones in sharp contrast to Daphne's frantic sobs.

After five minutes of standing around awkwardly, watching the heart-rending scene in front of them, Harry and his godfather were beckoned closer by his girlfriend. "Why don't you leave her with me?" Hermione proposed. "I know you're dying to show off whatever it is you have for us, and I think some time to process this would be good for Daphne…"

The look in her eyes made one more think apparent to Harry, and he shortly marvelled at how good he had become at reading such cues; that was assuming he had actually read Hermione's gaze correctly when he had interpreted it as, "Some girl time would be good."

"Come on, Sirius," he beckoned the older man quietly, careful not to disturb Daphne who seemed to have dozed off, held up only by Hermione's surprisingly strong arms. "You can present your fabulous idea to me."

Throwing a wary glance at the distraught girl, almost as if abandoning her now would come at some colossal karmic price to him personally, Sirius nodded reluctantly and waved for Harry to follow him out of the room. They met back only minutes later, with both of them decked out in warm winter gear, as per Sirius' request, and the marauder apparated them away.

OOOOOOOO

The two of them reappeared on a windy shore, overlooking an equally windswept sea. In the east, a weak winter's sun was slowly rising above the waters of the Atlantic Ocean and seagulls were soaring above their heads.

However, none of these things managed to keep a hold of Harry's attention for more than a few seconds, because hidden in a little bay, right in front of where he and Sirius had apparated was a ship.

Not any kind of ship, mind you; no, it was a genuine warship, well over 100 meters long and coated in a light-grey paintjob that made its military roots all the more obvious.

"Tada!" his godfather cheered next to him, probably satisfied by the completely gobsmacked expression Harry must have been wearing on his face. "Meet the HMS Phoebe," Sirius introduced cheekily. The marauder's declaration was followed by another wide grin, that sent all kinds of alarm bells ringing inside Harry's head.

"You stole a warship?" he inquired, trying but not completely managing to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice.

"Oy," the man in question returned, "I didn't steel her. Bought her fair and square, I'll have you know."

The glance he was getting this time around was more questioning than downright accusatory, and Harry continued in his interrogation. "So, let me get this straight…" he went on, still sounding rather dubious, if he did say so himself. "They just let you _buy _a warship?! The Royal Navy just let you buy one of their ships?"

Sirius now looking to the ground a little bashfully did not soothe Harry in the slightest. "Well, they might have been thinking I was gonna scrap it; would have been a real shame, because she's a great ship, let me tell you," he answered. "They took out all weapons and everything they saw as 'classified', I let the appropriate players know I was the owner of a major scrapping business, and that's that."

Satisfied that they would not get in trouble with the non-magical authorities, probably, Harry turned to taking in the prize his godfather had secured for them; it was a stroke of genius, really. With a moving base, even a breach in secrecy would not immediately result in them losing that base.

"You know, they had an _HMS Sirius_ of the same class," the man wearing that very name commented with an almost dejected undertone. "A shame that they wanted to keep that one…"

Suppressing a roll of his eyes (oh the vanity of that man), Harry turned to his godfather and smiled. "Were you going to show me around?" he asked, eliciting an almost manic smile on Sirius' already ecstatic face.

"Follow me," the supposedly adult man ordered, and proceeded to lead Harry to a small dinghy, which had been tied to a rocky outcropping in the jagged coast, that made Harry wonder how in Merlin's name the rubber boat had managed to not be destroyed by the sharp stone. As if sensing his godson's confusion, Sirius explained, "I've put impervious charms all over that boat. Once we do the same with good, old Phoebe here, she'll be unsink…"

However, Sirius did not manage to actually finish his sentence, before he was being violently shushed. "Don't say that," Harry warned, only halfway serious. "Don't you know what happens to ships people call unsinkable?"

Understanding dawning on his face, Sirius nodded his consent and jumped into the dinghy, closely followed by Harry. With an almost inaudible whir, the small boat set out into the relatively shallow waters of the bay in which the future base of operations for whatever kind of resistance they were building was anchored.

"I took those schematics for powering drives and stuff from your workshop," the marauder explained over the din of the water splashing against the surface of the enchanted boat. "Good thing they were so detailed, otherwise I would never have gotten that ship here; enchanting was always something your dad was good at, not me…"

The melancholy tone with which the last part was said forcefully reminded Harry of that time Molly Weasley had scolded Sirius for treating Harry like a James-substitute; as much as he mistrusted the woman, he could not help but feel she was right about at least this one thing, from time to time.

"So, I've got the engines running and you can steer the thing," Sirius continued, pulling his godson from his ruminations, "but the navigation equipment does not work with all that magic around, so unless you want to painstakingly ward every single wire in that ship, we'll have to come up with something else. Had to stay in sight of the coast while bringing her here, lest I be _lost at sea._" One grand gesture towards the open sea later, Sirius almost gently eased them up to a ladder fixed to the side of the vessel.

A somewhat arduous climb delivered the pair to the sight of a giant (for a ship, that is) flat area, bordered by an almost monumental door. "Uh, Sirius," Harry began, not at all sure how exactly he was going to end his sentence. "…did this ship have a helicopter?"

Some grumbling from the general direction in which he had left the man seemed to confirm Harry's assumption. "They wouldn't let me buy one of those, though," he complained, while looking longingly at the free space on the deck. It took a few gentle reminders that they, in fact, would not even know what to do with a helicopter in the first place; considering their complete lack in skill concerning the usage of such a vehicle, it would really just take space away that might be otherwise employed.

From the helipad, their tour of the ship continued; there was sufficient space for the over 200 sailors that had once served on the frigate, large engine rooms that were now unoccupied, a gym for the crew to stay healthy, a med-bay, a central cafeteria.

However, with all of the rooms, and even most of the superstructure stripped down to the bare necessities, it all looked a bit sad. Even in the narrow tunnels of a functionally designed warship like this, their voices and steps produced impressive echoes against the empty walls and hollowed-out chambers.

"I will be the first to admit that it looks a little bleak, right now," Sirius conceded after a particularly dubious look over the barebones command centre he and Harry were currently standing inside, "but believe me, once me and the elves are done with the place, it will be a home away from home."

Hearing these words, a surprising sense of melancholy filled Harry almost to the brim. "No," he declared simply. "Not home away from home; this is a military ship, and always will be. Make it more comfortable, sure, but it has to remain exactly what it was built for." A feeling of oppression now over them, they followed the last few ladders up to the bridge of the once-mighty ship. The sun had now risen completely, bathing the emptied-out room in a warm light that belied both the cold weather outside and the bleak mood inside.

"I've been treating this like a game, but it's more than that, right?" Sirius observed, surprising Harry with an amount of self-reflection that did not come easily to the usually so silly man. "No matter how we play our cards, there will be fighting and death…"

Harry just groaned in agreement, gazing out onto the windswept sea illuminated by the morning sun. There was not much he could say to his godfather's assertion, because it was simply right; nothing more, nothing less. No matter how cowardly most of the blood-bigots were, they would not take kindly to all the privileges Harry and Hermione wanted to take from them, and a cornered animal was likely to act irrationally, lashing out against the world it felt it had been wronged by; Draco Malfoy, whenever any action against his bullying had been taken, was a great example of how the old elite would react to their advantages being questioned.

And all that was discounting the very real possibility of Voldemort regaining his body and, once again, waging war on the wizarding world. Probably aided by even more people who had the feeling that their power was being threatened; people like Umbridge, Fudge, or even the Greengrasses.

"Sadly, I think this will have to remain a warship," Harry observed with finality.

OOOOOOOO

Daphne was still gently snoring on Hermione's shoulder while she was sitting on the comfortable sofa, carefully reading a book so as not to disturb her obviously exhausted friend. Now having the opportunity to take a closer look at the woman, Hermione staggered at the picture of devastation; not that it was in any way surprising, really, considering what she had recently gone through. Still, after several weeks of surprising resilience, the blotchy eyes and sickly-pale skin were like a hit to the gut…

With a sudden jolt, Daphne left the relatively peaceful sleep she had been having, prompting Hermione to encircle her friend with a set of (hopefully) tender and caring arms.

"It's okay, Daphne," she soothed. "We're in Sirius, Harry and my safehouse, no one can find you here." The young woman these words were meant to comfort, though, only started crying louder at hearing them, sending Hermione in the emotional equivalent of a broom whose twigs had been severely burned. Despite her seeming security in coaching the two boys she had been hanging out with during her first Hogwarts years in matters of feelings, she was really out of her depths here; it was not something that either reading or being part of an incredibly one-sided war could really prepare you for. Also, being more accomplished in handling emotions was a rather low bar to climb when she was comparing herself to people who were as clueless as Harry and Weasley.

So, bereft of any sense of what exactly she could do for her friend, Hermione simply went for holding her close. Fortunately, that seemed to be a viable course of action, and soon the sobbing coming from the lump of clothes with black hair Hermione was holding close was getting quieter and less.

"Thanks," Daphne said with a sniffle, while freeing herself from the arms holding her and wiping some tearstains away from her pale face. "I really needed that…"

Hermione smiled indulgently, not at all feeling inconvenienced. However, there was something she was aching to ask, although she was not completely sure doing so would be in any way appropriate.

"Oh, come on, Hermione," her thoughts were interrupted. "I know that look on your face, you want to ask me something; just ask."

Feeling a tad guilty for being so easily readable, even for someone in such bad a state, Hermione asked the question that had been on her mind. "How come you're so shaken now? You seemed to be doing fine, before," she asked, more bluntly than she would have cared for.

The dejected woman started withdrawing herself a tad, making Hermione fear for the worst, but it was only so she could pull her feet up on the sofa and hug them to herself. "I don't really know," Daphne admitted. "I think… before, I could pretend this was all some game, or something was going to happen that would make all of this unnecessary. Now, it's just brutal reality."

That was something Hermione could hardly relate to; for her, having something ominous around had always only furthered the creative ways in which her imaginative mind could torture her: Harry gone and not to be found? Captured and murdered by Voldemort. A teacher asking her to stay behind after class? Falsely accused of cheating and thrown out of Hogwarts, to the unending disappointment of her parents. It spoke of a different mindset, how you approached something like this, Hermione was sure.

With a jolt she returned to the here and now, pulling her mind away from the multitude of terrible outcomes she had thought up over the years. "Well, at least you know the outcome now," she observed, in the hopes that an infusion of reality-based optimism would cheer her friend up.

Daphne just huffed sardonically and replied, "Yeah, I guess I do…"

"And, you're not alone," Hermione added, considering one more important thing for someone like Daphne, or Harry, in fact. Actually, now that she was thinking about it, even her; a sense of belonging was something they had all wished for and missed out on, for some reason. "Harry's there for you, Sirius is great fun, and I will be here as well. Don't forget our other friends, who we'll tell as soon as it's safe." Seeing the smile on Daphne's face was something that was immensely satisfying for Hermione, and she patted herself on the back a bit; in her mind, that was. It would not do to seem all too weird, even with only her friend there.

"Thanks, Hermione," Daphne actually smiled now. "That really helped. Now, Sirius let slip that it was you who cast that Fidelius we're now under; I expect to be tutored by both you and Harry, so I can embarrass those friends you have mentioned when they see me the next time by being better than them, despite not going to school anymore."

At first, the only answer Hermione could give to this was an annoyed groan. This was soon followed by a both despondent and enraged, "This man… you'd think being a nationally-renowned trickster would make you good at lying, but that man has all the subtlety of a mountain troll…

OOOOOOOO

"Sirius," Harry addressed his godfather currently sitting next to him on the metal roof covering the bridge. "We need to have a serious conversation."

"Hey, that's my bad pun," the man mock-grumbled immediately, only to be cut off almost immediately.

"I mean it, Sirius," came the quick reply, and Harry tried to convey how _serious _he was about this in those few words. "You've seen how Daphne was this morning, and if I had to guess then Hermione had to deal with even worse after we were gone. And that's all well and good, but we have to get back to Hogwarts at some point; after that, Daphne will need someone to be there for her that is not just inside a two-way mirror; that someone can't always be the whimsical marauder."

They both let the absence of words linger for a while as their perch was pelted by the strong, salty winds coming in from the open sea. The sigh his godfather uttered already confirmed his intentions before Sirius had any chance to actually answer. "I will try my best," was the spoken reply that soon followed. "But pup, you have to see I'm completely out of my depth here; I've just never expected having to take care of a girl hitting puberty, let alone one in Daphne's situation."

Harry chuckled back at the notion of Sirius taking the fatherly role for Daphne that to both their chagrin he had never been able to for his actual godson. "Just be there for her," he tried to encourage, seeing the scared core behind Sirius' usual bravado; it was sweet in a way, that Sirius would be so worried about this. "If she needs a hug, hug her; if she needs someone to teach her magic, teach her magic; if she needs someone to tell her off, tell her off." Noting the slight wincing his godfather had done on the last point in Harry's list, he moved to elaborate. "I know you sympathise with someone being 'locked up' in a sense, but as long as we don't know whether her parents have a way of tracking her, we can't risk Daphne just going out willy-nilly. It's going to be risky enough sneaking her to Diagon Alley to get her a new wand."

Confronted with all the new responsibilities he was now faced with, Sirius blanched a little; it was really amusing, Harry decided. "I don't think you'll be doing a lot of that, she's quite grown-up already, but I've also seen how someone is that is being locked up for their own good," he explained. "So, I want you to do everything to keep her occupied for as long as possible, and if you have to work through the entire Hogwarts curriculum to do it. And just when you think she can't take it anymore, you apparate someplace far away from our hideout and the castle, ward that place to hell and back and take her for some fresh air. Understood?"

This time, the only response was a glum nod. Still, it was accompanied by a much more self-assured look, which Harry counted as a definite win.

OOOOOOOO

The _Daily Prophet_ lying on the table seemed to make a mockery of everything that had happened recently, as far as Xavier Greengrass was concerned. That most widely published newspaper was, for the first time in living memory, spewing lies that actually involved his family; that was a thought he was not feeling at all well with. Despite his misgivings, the Greengrass patriarch grabbed the paper again, with the intention of rereading the article he had only skimmed earlier.

_Greengrass heiress vanished: dark forces at play?_

_By: Bartholomew Babble_

_**London, Hogsmeade **__Yesterday morning, in the rush of students returning to their homes for a well-deserved holiday break, Daphne Selena Greengrass, eldest child of and heir-presumptive to the Earl of Greengrass-upon-the-hill has gone missing. According to sources inside the investigation, the girl has last been seen shortly before the departure of the Hogwarts Express._

"_She was indeed behaving oddly," a source that wishes to remain unnamed has confirmed for us. "I thought it was these people she kept hanging around with, they were bound to have a bad influence on her."_

_Unfortunately, we were unable to ascertain who exactly our anonymous source was talking about. Further information on the happenings are in regrettably short supply, with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement only giving a small comment through their spokesperson, who indicated he was unable to comment on a running investigation. Our contact in the department was unable to indicate, whether a crime was being suspected._

_However, we were able to track down the distraught parents of the missing girl and confer with them. "I only wish for my little girl to come home," said Xavier Greengrass, the worried father. "It was supposed to be such a happy occasion; we have just managed to arrange a betrothal with a good family."_

"_I can only assume that this is the work of subversive elements wishing to undermine my and Earl Greengrass' alliance," the designated father-in-law, Mr. Lucius Malfoy commented._

_With the possibility of a crime not ruled out, the two families have offered a joint reward of 100000 Galleons for any hint leading to the safe return of Daphne Greengrass to her family. She is about 5 foot 4 inches tall, has a pale complexion and long dark hair, and was last seen wearing a Hogwarts uniform with Slytherin embroidery._

_Please direct all hints to Senior auror Johnson of DMLE._

Another scoff escaped Xavier's mouth reading the mixture of half-truths and utter bullshit printed in the paper; still, Lucius had a lot of sway over matters both in the Ministry, as well as in the _Prophet_. The shame of a young woman running away, a thought-out plan ready nonetheless, would be a stain on the Malfoy family not to be taken lightly. Still, he would much rather have his daughter back than making sure there was no damage to Lucius Malfoy's reputation, not to mention that son of his. They were both bad news, as much was clear to the worried father; yet, to him, no price was too high to keep his family safe. And in the face of a surviving Lord Voldemort, a possibly immortal Voldemort, the Malfoys were the best chance of that happening.

"_Daphne, where are you?" _he thought desperately for what had to be the hundredth time.

OOOOOOOO

The quartet of people currently staying at the Potter-cave was looking at the same issue of the _Prophet _Xavier Greengrass was; all of their very mixed emotions were clearly showing on their faces, most of them saddened for the disheartening turn the life of their friend had taken. Still, something struck Harry as rather weird.

"What do they mean 'they don't know, whether there was a crime'?" he questioned, perplexed by the misinformation. "I can't believe that Senior auror would be quite so stupid…"

Sirius snorted in reply, threw another glance at the paper and replied, "They're not, but imagine the shame of the bride designated for Draco Malfoy rather running away than marrying him. As far as involvement from the wizarding public goes, it's the same for both; when people see Daphne, they floo-call, or send an owl. Doesn't make a difference, whether she's been abducted or ran away."

Considering his godfather's assessment, Harry grunted in acceptance of the man's conclusion. All that superficial tranquillity was disrupted, though, when Daphne had gotten a good deal into the article and suddenly blew her top. "'I only wish for my little girl to come home'," she mocked, her voice dripping with acid. "And the only subversive elements I can see are you people. And the only crime I can think of was the two of you trying to marry me off to that colossal creep." The black-haired young woman starting pacing around the table in visibly intense anger. Another improvement, as far as Harry was concerned.

"On to different matters," Hermione made the attempt to redirect their conversation, while giving her boyfriend glance that told him to join that very effort. "We should map out what we wish to do during the break."

Harry affirmed her assessment, nodding along with as much enthusiasm as he could currently muster. "Hermione and I will have to work on the enchantments for the ship, placing the crystals in the old engine room and the bridge, come up with some enchantments to replace the navigational instruments and think about what we want to do with all of the available space."

Now it was Hermione's turn to nod along. "We also have to place the enchantments for our duplicate of the Room of Requirement on at least one of the rooms in the cave; Sirius, if we show you how to apply them, could you do the same for more of the rooms in here and in the ship?" she inquired, looking at the marauder with a raised eyebrow.

"Sure can," he replied, raising his own eyebrow in a gesture that clearly showed how very much he disliked being questioned like this. Their non-verbal sparring match was interrupted by someone clearing their throat loudly. The source turned out to be Daphne, who had reacquired her chair and was looking at the people gathered around the table with a dubious look.

"Someday you'll have to tell me how you can do all this stuff, what with only being 12 and 13," she declared, before her features slid into a half-hearted grin. "For now, I will be happy with learning as much as possible. Can we please go and get my new wand soon? I don't want to just sit around, while all of you have something to do. You could teach me that enchantment, for example."

Harry was just beginning to mull over the merits and disadvantages of that course of action when another person clearing their throat interrupted his thoughts.

"I believe you have forgotten something very important," Sirius observed with all the gravitas he could muster, just before his features morphed into the almost child-like smile that looked much more at home there. "There's also gonna be Christmas. Just think how pissed the Greengrasses would be if we bought Daphne a present with the money we made from our deal with them…"

OOOOOOOOO

AN: Hi all.

As previously announced, I have a lot to do for university, which means I don't have as much time for writing as I would like. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy the newest chapter of my story, as always, leave a review with what you thought.

Happy new year,

alexandertheII


	41. Chapter 41: Arts and Crafts

**Chapter 41: Arts and Crafts**

"You have everything?" Hermione asked the two for the umpteenth time. Still, her expression was so endearingly worried, Sirius could not help but be moved; nothing would hold him back from teasing the bushy-haired witch, though.

"Yes, mum," he chortled. "I have that special material you wanted me to bring the wandmaker, Daphne is about to drink the Polyjuice potion and is already wearing the warded amulet, we both have our portkeys, which we aren't supposed to use outside of an emergency because they're not exactly legal and… did I forget anything?" The expression on Hermione's face was priceless. "Oh, yes: Daphne's cover; the potion contains the hair of an eleven-year-old muggle girl, Daphne is on vacation with her distant relative Sirius, and her actual name is Cassiopeia."

There was a small glare directed in his direction as Hermione realised she had been played, but the relief she felt was also quite visible. "Sorry, Sirius," she conceded almost abashedly. "I just worry."

Taken with how affected his godson's girlfriend was by all this, Sirius stepped toward her and gave her a small hug. "I know," he said amicably. "We'll be careful, not making any dangerous detours; apart from Knockturn Alley, of course."

Hermione looked at him gratefully for even trying to assuage her worries, and they were shortly joined by Harry and Daphne; it was an interesting experience, to say the least, seeing Harry with his arm around who at least looked like a complete stranger.

"I've enchanted your bracelet to warn you in exactly 50 minutes, so you can take a new dose of Polyjuice from the flask in your bag," Sirius watched the pup explain the same thing he had already been explained earlier. It was charming, seeing Hermione reflected in him; at least there was hope his more relaxed attitude would then reflect in her, as well.

Still, such an excellent opportunity for teasing could simply not be ignored. "Oh, pup," he greeted cheerily, immediately eliciting a wary look on the young man's face. "It's great seeing Hermione… _rub _off on you, you know? But you've told us that before."

While his godson was fighting a smile from coming onto his face, the woman mentioned in his admittedly bad pun was shooting him an almost toxic look; although, if Sirius had not known better, he would have guessed there was some longing in those eyes, as well. Not too surprising, given that she was a woman of around twenty, trapped in the body of a thirteen-year-old. Any _rubbing _had to be a sore subject. Desperately pushing his wandering mind away from thoughts of his godson and his girlfriend (there were much less gross thoughts to be had), the marauder concentrated on the here and now again.

"We should really get going," he piped up, before the terrible duo had time to repeat everything they had said before; it was not getting them anywhere and just keyed everyone up even more. "We should not be too long, a few hours at most." After taking another look at the two anxious faces, he added, "And please promise me something: Don't just sit around, waiting for us to come home, alright? Do something worthwhile, or you're going to drive yourself crazy with worry over Daphne."

Resigned looks and nods told him his advice would probably be followed, even though some worrying was bound to happen, regardless. With only a few more words of farewell, cognizant of their limited potion supplies, Daphne's polyjuiced alter-ego had tightly grabbed Sirius' arm and with a swirl, they were gone.

The pair, easily mistaken for a father taking his daughter out for shopping had the adult not been Sirius Black, reappeared in a back alley close to the Leaky Cauldron, where Sirius schooled his features into the air of smug arrogance that the children of many a noble family were sucking up with the breast milk. No one particularly liked questioning Black family business, and today it was important that no one dared to; with the muggle girl from whom they had taken the hair easily looking like she could be a distant cousin, or maybe a long-lost nibling, that should be manageable.

With a practised strut, Sirius led his young charge into the pub that was the entrance to Diagon Alley; given the time of year, the festively adorned main room was packed with old acquaintances, friends and families reuniting over lunch and an early drink. However, taking in the stony expression showcased by the man who had just entered was enough of a deterrent to make sure that a comfortable passage was available for the two. Within minutes, they had joined the throngs of people in the wizarding shopping district that were occupied with last-minute Christmas presents, various petty squabbles and some unruly pets.

Quite purposefully, the duo made their way toward the back of Diagon Alley, where the somewhat foreboding entrance to Knockturn Alley was located. Sirius still remembered his first jaunt into the darkened place, remembered being almost terrified by the many questionable people one could find there. However, these days were long behind him, now; spending years with Dementors and veritable psychos as the only company tended to give you a new perspective. With his (mostly) adult eyes, he could see past a lot of the mystery of the place. Sure, there were reputable businesses here, like Woodworm's wood-shop, McHavelock's hats or the undertakers, businesses that had been forced into the dark by either senseless laws or senseless prejudices. At some point, everyone needed a mortician.

Over these musings, the walk to 'Woodworm Turner and Carpenter' had gone by without Sirius even taking note of it, and they were standing in front of the surprisingly friendly-looking store, where Sirius turned to his charge. "Cassiopeia," he addressed the polyjuiced girl, delighted that she immediately reacted to her cover-name. "I would like you to have a look around the store, while I talk to Woodworm for a few minutes." The answer was a regal nod and a smile, making Sirius think 'Cassiopeia' might be enjoying the whole thing just as much as he was.

The bell on the door jingled warmly as they stepped through, immediately alerting the attentive man behind his counter. "Ah, Mr. Black" the man greeted, showing that even in Knockturn Alley, Sirius image preceded him. "A good thing to see you and your young… companion; what might I be able to help you with on this fine day?"

Sirius nodded for Daphne to go browsing through some of the wooden artwork and practical goods on display, then turned his attention back to the man in front of him. "I would like to make a deal with you for some… special appliances," he uttered the same passphrase his godson had, pretty much exactly a year earlier.

It was a special moment to see the man lighten up in front of him, his face filled with the unbridled passion Sirius could only guess was kindled by either his love for his craft or the idea of making a lot of money.

"It might be an unusual offer," the marauder went on, "but I would like to pay in kind."

Now, the eagerness and curiosity on the carpenter's face was impossible to miss. "And what exactly would that payment entail? I'm sure you're quite aware that, in my business, I use rather… exotic ingredients."

As soon as he had heard the reply, Sirius was unable to suppress an anticipatory smile; sure, rare and exotic ingredients were all well and good, but he doubted even Woodworm had seen something like what he had to offer in a long time. Therefore, without further ado, he pulled the Basilisk horn Harry had given him from his bag. The look of wide-eyed astonishment on Woodworm's face was as hilarious as it was promising.

"I take it you know what this is," he guessed to eager nods from the surprised shopkeeper. "What would you usually pay for such a thing?" the happy trickster inquired with an innocent smile.

Woodworm, for his part, was still very much in shock, to which Sirius ascribed his willingness to be questioned like this. "Something like this…" he replied, his usual aura of mischief and mystery completely absent. "Something like this is of immeasurable worth; there hasn't been a wand with a core from basilisk horn in at least several centuries."

Eternally grateful for the wand-maker having taken his bait, Sirius went on with his pitch. "I'd thought as much. Now, I will need two wands, my lovely young companion will need three, with three holsters for each of us," he began his offer, at which Woodworm got an eager glint in his eyes; understandable, considering the worth of a few measly wands compared to what he had to offer. "Don't agree just yet, there's more: If I send you someone with a special passphrase, and I promise there won't be many instances of that, they will also get two of your creations and three holsters, free of charge. I like you, so I'll also 'let slip' that you have a basilisk horn available to the right ears; you won't be able to accommodate all the business that will get you."

The carpenter mulled around over the offer a few moments, or at least pretended to, since the offer Sirius had made seemed to have awoken his haggling-spirits again. "I can't do free of charge SPATULAS, no matter how much you promise it won't be many," he replied faux-apologetically. "That's too much of a risk for me, at least if we do it indefinitely. How about two years, free of charge?"

"Ten years," Sirius replied, having expected this; sure, free 'spatulas' would have been nice, and it was worth a try, but never a very realistic one.

"Five years!"

"Indefinitely, but at cost. Final offer," he gave what had been the real aim all along; that way, Woodworm made sure he would not run a deficit with doing work for Sirius, something any legitimate business-owner was deadly afraid of. The small business-owner in the room seemed to agree with Sirius on the matter and held out his hand for a shake, which his new customer readily reciprocated. "You might want to invest in some security, though, when I let slip that you have a basilisk horn," Sirius added as an afterthought, looking around the dusty shop; the wicked smile on Woodworm's face told him he need not worry.

While the craftsman was preparing what he would need for making the five 'spatulas', his customer was retreating back to the showroom where he found his 'distant relative Cassiopeia' looking at an assortment of beautifully crafted wooden artwork.

"Cassiopeia," Sirius called for the girl, startling her out of her reverie. "Time to try out for your ingredients."

A smile lit up Daphne's face, probably at the idea of being able to do magic again, and the intense, heart-warming sensation he felt at that was short only of the way Sirius usually felt whenever he made Harry smile; not even Hermione, who he had grown quite fond of, could make him this happy just by being happy.

With a highly motivated, almost squeal-like noise his charge raced past, once and for all clearing up the question who was going to be fitted for their wand first. From then on, everything went pretty much the same as Harry and Hermione had related it to him. They were both shown different woods and cores, some of which reacted, some not. A good deal of time had passed, with both Sirius and Daphne (who had had to drink two additional doses of potion) wandering around the multitude of Woodworm's creations, when they were recalled to the backroom of the shop where the joyful man was waiting for them both with two elongated boxes.

Letting any sort of preamble fall to the side, the carpenter handed Daphne her new wands. The excited girl slid the lid off the carton, revealing three impressively mysterious wands: They were of a medium length, around ten to eleven inches, if Sirius had had to guess. However, that was not the mysterious part; these three wands all carried an intricate pattern of interwoven black and white, polished to a shine.

Obviously noting the fascinated look on his two customers' faces, Woodworm made to elaborate. "Ebony and yew," he explained. "Fascinating combination, and beautiful to look at. Such contradictions in only a single piece… protector, fighter, the power of life and death. The core is a shaving from the horn of a basilisk." The last bit he said with a wink to Sirius, to whom he turned next; meanwhile Daphne was completely engrossed in looking at the three new wands in her possession.

With a decent amount of excitement, Sirius took his turn in taking a first look at his new wands. What greeted him in his box was less visually impressive than what Daphne had received, just two rather long sticks of varying shades of bright wood. His critical examination of the product did not go by unnoticed, though and Woodworm took this as his cue.

"Maple and dogwood, dragon heartstring and thunderbird tail feather" he reported, a mischievous look on his face. "The tool of an adventurer, a trickster; a marauder, dare I say…"

OOOOOOOO

"Oh, come on," Harry tried to get his girlfriend to spare him a smile. "You know as well as I do that Sirius can actually be a responsible adult from time to time; as soon as we leave for Hogwarts, he will have to be."

Hermione was certainly not looking happy about the fact that facts and logic were being used 'against her', but in the end it was a fruitless effort to resist the sense he was making. Seeing a reluctant smile on her face was the sign for Harry to continue with his plans for their day.

"Now that we've established that, let's take a look at the list of things I did that we'll have to tackle," he announced , immensely enjoying the proud smile that graced the face of the woman he loved at hearing him so diligently planning something; after all, it had been something she had been trying to motivate him to do for almost seven years. "We will have to install all the enchantments to make the ship seaworthy again; that means navigation equipment and a check of the engine enchantments at the very least. Plus, the prep work for a Room duplicate and another Fidelius would be nice. Everything else, Sirius and Daphne should be able to copy from some DIY-books; stuff like drains, or a freezer."

The doubtful look he was receiving from Hermione was not doing much to help in increasing his hopes for getting all that done. "I'm not sure casting another Fidelius is worth it," Hermione admitted almost ashamedly. "I know it would allow Daphne to get outside safely, but it will completely lose its value as soon as we move the ship…"

Hearing this was her main concern was incredibly relieving to Harry, because it was something he had already thought about. "I don't actually think so," he began his explanation, momentarily surprised at the fact that he was explaining something to Hermione that was not about Quidditch and to which she barely listened. "I mean, what does the Fidelius charm do? First, it erases the knowledge of the location and exact identity of something from the mind of everyone but the caster and the secret keeper. Second, it creates a filter centred around the secret keeper that will only let you perceive that information when it is told by the secret keeper. If we properly anchor the spell to the ship itself and not the location in which it is right now, it arguably makes the thing even better. We'd have to try, of course, but if I had to guess I would say that every time we parked that thing somewhere else, you would have to be told about the spot anew."

The scrunching of Hermione's face that started forming during Harry's explanation, the expression he called 'thinking Hermione', was unbearably cute. However, he had once tried giving her a kiss when she had looked like this, and she had severely told him off for interrupting a valuable train of thought. Waiting for that train to end, on the other hand, had often given him great rewards. He turned out to be right, because as soon as her thinking had passed, his girlfriend pounced on him with a steamy kiss that had him curse his damn, twelve-year-old body.

Now, with a delay of around twenty minutes, they were underway to the small bay where the _HMS Phoebe _was anchored.

Just after having landed, Hermione made one more observation.

"We're going to need a new name for her; she's not 'Her Majesty's ship anymore…"

OOOOOOOO

Xavier Greengrass was in a brooding mood; admittedly not completely surprising, yet still annoying. He was angry, at his daughter, the Malfoys, his own decisions and the wretched world he was living in for forcing him to make these decisions. Was it his fault they all happened to live during the lifetime of a powerful dark wizard who had, once before, almost brought the magical world to heel? A dark wizard, who had been missing for a whole decade, only to reappear as an insubstantial ghost that could possess people, if that lying newspaper was to be believed. And it was surely not his doing that the Malfoys happened to be one of the families he knew would be able to protect him and his from having to really pick a side.

Eventually, he resigned himself to the knowledge that he had done everything he could; yes, the Malfoy boy was as much of a creep as his father, possibly worse, but he was still a fair bit better than some of the other people he had seen over the past few months. If the sons of those oafs Crabbe and Goyle were the cream of the crop, expectations for the crop had to be adjusted accordingly.

No, now that he was thinking about it, this was Daphne's fault; she should have been less obstinate, more understanding of the trouble he was facing. What was living as the well-cared-for trophy wife of a future lord, a member of the future ruling elite, compared to the opportunity of keeping your family safe.

Still, he could calm himself with the thought that all was not lost; Astoria would only be going to Hogwarts in nine months, time enough to drill into her the importance of fulfilling her duty to her family, because one way or another, a member of House Greengrass was going to have to pay up on what Lucius Malfoy had been offered.

OOOOOOOO

"Four-point-spell, that modified altimeter for brooms, the super-deluxe-long-distance-flyer's astronavigation device… anything we forgot?" Harry asked his girlfriend, throwing a wary glance at the pile of surprisingly expensive equipment Jarpey had been happy to acquire for them. "Those hyphenated names are a real menace."

Hermione subjected the parts to an equally intense scrutiny, scrunching up her nose again, until she huffed and answered, "I don't think so… astronavigation only works at night, so we'll have to make do with a sextant and knowing how fast we're going. We'll have to find someone who knows how to navigate a ship like this."

Her frustrated expression forced Harry to consider what exactly had wound her up like that; was it that she was annoyed with another problem popping up? Was is the fact that she would have to let someone else handle this admittedly interesting responsibility, making some excellent knowledge completely redundant?

"I love you," he declared out of the blue, knowing the dopey smile on his face had to be closely matching the one worn by his girlfriend.

"And I you," she purred back. "Might I ask what brought this on?"

Deciding that honesty was the best way forward, Harry relayed his thoughts from before. "I just realised all these could be true, and I liked all of them," he replied, pressing another kiss on her receptive lips. The giggle he managed to extricate from that was only the cherry on top of the giant ice-cream the day had turned out to be, despite any worry they might be feeling over Sirius and Daphne.

However, as it is with all things, this had to end at some point; in their case, that point was reached when Hermione reminded them both (ironically, to both their discontent) that they still had some work to do, and while his girlfriend had soon vanished into the bowels of the proud frigate, he was climbing up the ladder-like stairs that would lead him to the pilothouse. Again, he found himself marvelling at how hollow the ship seemed without the many things that had probably once been in all these rooms; that was completely discounting the general absence of any other living beings, apart from Hermione and him.

Back in elevated position the ship offered to the ones steering her, another thing occurred to Harry: the whole vessel was in pristine shape. There was neither wear nor tear, and he had not found a single dust bunny on any of the decks. Now, the reason this came as a surprise to Harry was that when he had inspected their new base before, all these things had been noticeably present, just like on his tour with Hermione.

"Jarpey," he called out to confirm his already quite distinct suspicion. With the usual pop, the old elf (whatever that meant, given their centuries of lifetime) appeared before Harry, the tools of his trade strapped to his belt.

"What cans Jarpey be doing for Master Harry?" the little creature asked deferentially, something Harry had been frustratingly unable to make any of the elves stop doing.

"Jarpey, you wouldn't happen to know, how this ship's condition changed from 'it needs a lot of work' to 'you could eat from the floors' without any of us noticing, would you?" he asked of the proudly beaming guy. If, at the end of his question, any doubt had remained with Harry that it had indeed been Jarpey's doing, the eager nodding put those to rest.

"Jarpey be seeing that Master Harry is very distracted by Miss Hermione, so he called other elves to help," Jarpey explained, looking very proud at foreseeing his needs as perfectly as he obviously assumed he had.

Harry just sighed at the incredibly well-meaning, but potentially dangerous gesture. "Look, Jarpey," he began, keeping an eye out for any elven attempts at self-punishment, "that's a really great thing you did there, but I'll need for you and the other elves to keep quiet about this, alright? It's extremely important."

The house-elf who, for his part, seemed completely disgusted by the simple idea of betraying his master's trust, nodded emphatically again. "Jarpey be quiet as death himself," he promised. "Many of the other elveses not be part of Potter Family, but they be very loyal and quiet as well."

Allowing himself a small chuckle at the earnestness with which the little guy took to this, especially with Harry's first impression of house-elves being Dobby, Harry declared, "Well, then; thank you for your help, Jarpey. Now I only have to get these fitted, somehow…"

OOOOOOOO

"Another one," Daphne demanded, a demand which to comply with Sirius was all too happy. Seeing her this distracted and joyful was a real feat, considering how she had been only a day earlier. Therefore, he had no problem with being ordered around for training purposes.

A balloon in each hand, Sirius stepped back into the room furthest down the hall of the Potter-cave, lightly chuckling to himself; granted, when he had bought these amazingly entertaining muggle contraptions he had not exactly had a plan what to do with them, but he had never expected this.

"Come one, I'm waiting," Daphne called to him, clearly getting antsy. As per their preestablished routine, the marauder readied himself and threw first one, then the second balloon into the corridor. It only took moments and two whispered spells from the young woman he was training with to fill the cave with the loud sound of popping balloons.

"Honestly," he heard a very familiar voice comment. "We leave you alone for a few hours and what do you come up with?" The words being said in a mixture of jest and actual puzzlement left little room for guessing who exactly had walked in on them.

"Come on, Hermione, it looks like good practice, actually," Sirius now heard his godson observe, amused with imagining the intrigued expression the man would be wearing right about now. Yes, he would be willing to bet a good deal of money that he would be throwing balloons for Harry soon, as well.

An exasperated sigh reached his ears, this one probably from Hermione, again. "Enough goofing around," she declared finally. "Sirius, come out; we have to compare notes on how the day went."

Somewhat disappointed at having to end his very entertaining pastime/training routine, the marauder emerged from the doorway in which he had been standing and joined the three younger people waiting in the communal room of the safe house. The group proceeded to the table, sat on the comfortable chairs and just looked each other over a little. Taking pity on both Hermione and her boyfriend, Sirius eventually began the tale of their outing to Knockturn Alley, bland as it was.

"So this," he went on, "is one of my new wands; dogwood and maple with dragon heartstring and thunderbird tailfeather as the cores." Valiantly ignoring Harry's snickering at hearing that one of his godfather's wand woods was dogwood, he instead chose to address the little squeak he had heard from the direction of Hermione. "Care to enlighten me what particular bee stung you, little miss?"

After seeming a bit flustered by his unusual address, the young woman answered, "I was just surprised you had the same cores as me; I suppose it's not that surprising. A powerful wand with a penchant for transfiguration."

With that issue cleared up, Daphne proceeded to showcase her new acquisitions. "Ebony and yew," she explained, pulling out the fascinating object of contrast between light and dark. "The core is a sliver from a basilisk horn… why are you looking at me like that?"

Prompted by the girl's exclamation, Sirius turned to look at the other two people in the room, as well. They were indeed wearing rather comical expressions of bewildered shock; not surprising, really. Even he, as the one being present when the wands had been handed over, was continually surprised that Daphne had happened to match the one ingredient he had brought.

"Sorry Daphne," Harry raced to soothe the obviously distraught teenager. "It's just a surprise that you would have that particular wand core, because it was me who killed that snake. That was Slytherin's monster that lived in the Chamber of Secrets."

It was now Daphne's turn to wear the gobsmacked expression. However, her stupor did not hold long. "One of these days, you'll have to tell me how you know and can do all that stuff, already." And if the non-verbal communication Sirius was able to observe between the two time-travellers was any indication, she was not the only one to think that way.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hi all,

I'm diligently using the holiday break to pump out word after word for your enjoyment. However, I have decided to pace the publishing of these chapters, so there won't be as much of a dry spell during the time in which I have to prepare for exams.

Now, since I'm writing this in the past, care to tell me how that Iran thing went? Ah, don't bother, I'll find out.

Hope you enjoyed this one, leave a review and have a nice day,

alexandertheII


	42. Chapter 42: To Calm and Upset

**Chapter 42: To Calm and Upset**

With everyone diligently working on something or other, Thursday the 24th was onto them before anyone could even blink an eye. In many ways, it was a hotly anticipated date, because Harry and Hermione had invited all their friends to Potter Castle, and all of them were scheduled to appear, including Luna as the newest addition to their group. However, there was something the young couple feared: lying to these people who meant so much to them about Daphne. It had been a long and arduous process, but in the end only one outcome had been possible; they would have to conceal Daphne's fate just a little while longer. Sure, all of their friends were supremely trustworthy, yet, it could not be ruled out that they would come into a situation where they might find themselves accidentally spilling a lot.

So, with a heavy heart Harry got up that morning and mentally repeated the cover story they had come up with to both hide their involvement in the matter and reassure their friends that Daphne was not in the hands of a dangerous criminal.

Breakfast was a subdued affair, the general mood undulating between excitement and apprehension. Daphne, who was doing as much magic as possible with her new wands, had just finished levitating the last piece of bacon onto her plate, when a crack announced the arrival of one of the elves living at the castle.

"Master Harry, Missy Her-mini, Miss Daphne, Mister Padfoot," who turned out to be Steward greeted the assembled group, "Master Harry, youse friends be here. Jarpey be putting them in the old ladies' room, so they not be getting wet, outside."

Harry threw a glance to first his girlfriend, who seemed ecstatic at seeing their friends again, even with the added complications, and then Daphne; the woman had a pale quality to her face that was even more pronounced than usual, but was putting on a brave face, just the same.

"You two should just go," she declared, sounding as if there was a big frog sitting in her throat. "I'll be here, doing as much magic as I can."

Reluctantly, Harry and Hermione took the hands offered by Steward and were quickly whisked away to the common room of Potter Castle. Without having much time to really situate himself at his destination, Harry was suddenly ambushed by a hug that, had he not known better, he would have said had been one of Hermione's. In actuality, it turned out that the person who had surprise-hugged first him and then his girlfriend was none other than Tracey Davis. It seemed her best friend's disappearance had really taken a toll on the normally tough girl, as much was apparent from her haggard appearance. Their greeting by Tracey was soon followed by much less flamboyant, yet equally heartfelt ones by Susan, Hannah, Luna and Neville.

A quick glance outside told everyone that the relentlessly wet, southern-English weather would apparently adhere to its longstanding policy of 'rain whenever possible', so instead of enjoying the beautiful surroundings of Potter Castle, the group gathered around the warm fireplace. Everyone began sharing what they had been up to since the day the Express had brought all them back from Hogwarts, but Harry could tell that their hearts were not in it.

"We really have to address the elephant in the room," he observed, turning all attention onto himself. "I know it, you know it; we all want to talk about Daphne."

Following Harry's statement, a great deal of relief went through the assembled group of friends. Obviously, everyone had just been rather reluctant to bring up that particular subject.

"I, for one," began Hermione, immediately ending her boyfriend's moment in the spotlight, "think she is completely fine. Honestly, I would be willing to bet she ran away to not have to marry that creep, Malfoy. I mean, who would abduct someone from the Hogwarts Express?"

Approving nods could be seen all through the assembly, and even the most scared looked somewhat better; if Hermione said something, it was usually right, after all. However, that did not mean one should not question, obviously. Or rather, pre-empt any kind of question by asking it before anyone else could.

"If Daphne had just run away, wouldn't she have been found by now?" Harry pointed out, to the clear consternation of his group of friends. "Wouldn't the Ministry have some kind of tracking her, or at least her wand when she uses magic? Or maybe her parents have some sort of tracking spell on her?"

Obviously intrigued by his points, the group started visibly thinking on what he had brought up, thereby fulfilling exactly what Harry had hoped for. Sure, Sirius was a member of one of the old pure-blooded families, Hermione was incredibly savvy in finding stuff out and he himself was not a slouch either, if he did say so himself; however, there was always the chance one of their friends had picked up something over the years they had not found, some way in which the Ministry or Daphne's parents could indeed be able to track the runaway. Especially Susan who, despite her disinterest in following in her aunt's footsteps, had picked up quite a lot over the years, promised to be a treasure-trove of information.

However, it was Neville who started talking, first. "If the first thing she cast was some kind of ward, the Trace would be absolutely useless," he commented, deeply in thought. Looking up and seeing all of their faces with shocked expressions on them, he moved to explain, "What? My gran talks to me, too. She happens to know a lot. And you just know that if Daphne wanted to run away, she would meticulously plan the whole thing, including how to fool the Trace."

"Wait a minute," Tracey suddenly piped up. "You're forgetting that she got a custom wand that was not from Ollivander; her wand never had the Trace on it, in the first place. So, every tracking charm placed on her would have to be one her parents installed; if only we knew more about that kind of enchantment."

Almost as if collectively holding their breath, the group turned toward Susan, who promptly started to redden immensely. "I'll ask my aunt tonight, she's coming over for Christmas," she mumbled, clearly keen to get everyone's attention away from her.

"Well, if Daphne really ran away," Hannah went on morosely, "how come the _Prophet _said a crime could not be ruled out?"

In comment, Harry scoffed derisively, prompting a questioning look to appear on the girl's face. "Sorry, Hannah," he said softly, before proceeding more harshly. "Either someone in the Aurors' office is trying to cover their bases by not ruling anything out, which is a good thing, or Malfoy put pressure on the paper to print it like this. Think about it: the idea of marrying the noble young Malfoy was so horrendous a girl from a respected family would rather vanish without a trace. That would leave a stain as hard to erase as the Dark Mark."

With everyone joyously agreeing to that, even though their agreement had something forced to it, talk soon returned to lighter topics.

OOOOOOOO

That evening, Harry was lying in his bed, contentedly enjoying the comforting warmth of the covers when, with a small creak, his door was pushed open. Within moments, the person standing in the doorway was illuminated by Harry's wandlight; however, his worries were completely unfounded, as the intruder turned out to be none other than Hermione. She was looking at the wand in her boyfriend's hand almost pensively, almost as if the mere presence of this weapon violated some sort of unwritten law or code.

"Can I sleep here," she asked with a small voice, with her tone carrying the same emotions her eyes did. Not one to kick this amazing girl to the curb, and also secretly happy that she had come after the day he had had, Harry lifted the covers for her to slip under. As her smaller body pressed up to him, he could feel how cold she was, even with having worn her warm dressing gown; it seemed she had been standing in front of his door for a good bit of time.

"Why didn't you just come in?" Harry asked the shivering woman that was currently playing the small spoon to his large one. "You're trembling from the cold, and your feet are freezing."

Foregoing an answer for the moment, she simply cuddled in closer; he could only guess it was to siphon off as much body warmth as possible. When she finally did answer, it was with the same small, very un-Hermione voice as before. "I hate lying to our friends," she stated simply, an incredibly sad quality to her tone one could seldomly hear from her. "I hate having to be on edge all the time and sleeping with my wands under the pillow."

Without any meaningful answer to that, especially since he felt the same way, Harry just tightened his arms around his girlfriend and proceeded to lightly stroke her tummy through the pyjama.

"Know what else I hate?" Hermione went on, obviously not expecting an actual answer. "We only sleep in one bed when something bad or monumental has happened."

Harry hummed in agreement, up until a thought struck him. "You know, that's not something we have to keep that way, really," he observed. "We'll have to tell Daphne about who we are sooner rather than later; after that, us sleeping together when we're here or at the castle won't raise any eyebrows from anyone permanently living there."

Somehow, the sunny smile suddenly spreading on Hermione's face was visible even on the back of her head. "Should we tell her tomorrow?" she asked hopefully, yet with a good portion of doubt mixed in. "She really has enough on her plate without us adding to it."

After some deliberation, Harry had reached a conclusion that would allow him to share his bed with his beloved girlfriend for another good week. Of course, the main reason for his decision was for Daphne to be happy, obviously. Definitely.

"I think it could be a good thing to distract her from her first Christmas away from her family," Harry observed. "Also, what would the alternative be? Tell her later? Because we will have to tell her; she's a smart one, and she will notice that things are out of the ordinary with us, just like Sirius did."

Seemingly content with his reasoning, Hermione soon fell into a deep sleep that gently let her body rise and fall with her breathing. Harry, on the other hand, was grappling with another thing on his mind, now that he and Hermione had decided on telling their friend everything. How would she react to having been lied to for more than a year? Somehow, Harry found it hard to imagine anything but a bad reaction.

OOOOOOOO

For Harry Potter, Christmas morning began with a tickling sensation. For his sleeping mind, the sensation was a rather large conundrum; in a way, it was familiar, yet something not often experienced. As he proceeded to approach real consciousness, more of his immediate surroundings became clear. He was feeling pleasantly toasty, very rested and there was a warm, comforting weight pressing down on his left shoulder and side.

Along with all these senses, the memory of the previous evening reappeared, and the weight to his left was immediately explained as Hermione; the idea that mornings like this one would be more common, at least until they returned to the school, put a large smile on his face that not even the thought of their later conversation with Daphne had any chance of erasing. Realising that his girlfriend was still fast asleep, Harry resigned himself to the monumental sacrifice of being her pillow for a good deal longer. However, he had obviously made that consideration without thinking of his sometimes rather overeager godfather.

Indeed, Sirius chose that exact moment to barge into the door. Seeing their sleeping arrangements, he gave Harry a wide grin and a thumbs-up, even as Hermione was starting to rouse due to the man's not exactly noiseless entry.

After owlishly blinking the last vestiges of sleep away, Hermione gave a warm, loving look to Harry, which was quickly replaced by one of horror as she realised who else was in the room. "Sirius," she scolded, "what are you doing here?"

The scolded one simply grinned as he began his retreat, and the door had only just fallen shut, when the cushion Hermione had thrown after him hit. They could just faintly hear a, "I could ask you the same…" before they were left in complete silence. Harry, who had remained comfortably ensconced under the blankets, opened his arms in a clear invitation for his girlfriend to cuddle up. Having done exactly that, she gently nuzzled his neck, right below the ear.

"Harry," she began gently, her voice filled with incredible warmth. "I know you well enough to know that you're worried about Daphne…"

As a response, or maybe more to get some time to think of a real response, he just huffed sardonically, while at the same time marvelling at this woman's insight into how his mind worked.

"It will be alright," Hermione soothed, while her left hand was slowly stroking his chest. "Daphne is a practical one; she'll understand. At least, if she believes us that is."

Even though his fears were far from abated, Harry chose to hold them down for the moment, and instead held his girlfriend close for a few more minutes. Dwelling on being able to do this more often in the near future was so much better than thinking about how their friend was going to react to the revelations about to be dumped onto her. When the old, mechanical alarm clock on the nightstand told him it was already nine in the morning, he gently shook Hermione to full wakefulness again, while mentally preparing himself for the day to come. However, there was one thing he had discounted, and that was the pile of presents placed on his room's floor.

So, with Hermione by his side and once again in her fluffy dressing gown, Harry turned to the not inconsiderable number of gifts arrayed before him. The first one that drew his attention was actually the one looking the least ostentatious; it was a simple envelope made of red paper, addressed to both him and his girlfriend. Counting on having to open more presents shortly, while Hermione was without any for the moment (she had resisted going back to her own room), he handed this one over for her to open. Instead, Harry grabbed a large, flat packet in gorgeous blue paper with a large, silver bow.

Freeing the present from its cover revealed its identity; it was a giant box of the best chocolate the wizarding world had to offer, along with a note from Tracey.

_Merry Christmas Harry,_

_I really enjoyed seeing everyone for Christmas Eve, and hope you have a great day with Sirius and Hermione._

_Greetings,_

_Tracey_

_PS: I managed to sneak in some of the ones with firewhisky and mead._

Reading the short yet sweet message, Harry was first touched and then amused. Although, considering what alcohol had the tendency of doing to a growing teenage body, he would probably just taste one or two, leaving the rest to his incorrigible godfather and whatever conquest the man brought home next.

Hermione seemed very amused by the card she was reading as well; prompted by Harry, she got a grip on herself and proceeded to read aloud.

"I've already gotten you a damn ship, and you want even more? My, you're greedy," she relayed what now turned out to be Sirius' words. "Well, in that case, let me offer you the following: Come speak to me later and I might just tell you what I have thought of…"

Harry groaned in annoyance. "I just know he's going to let us suffer somehow," he analysed wearily. "And we just gave him more ammunition by staying in the same room overnight."

Still, any kind of weariness was doomed the moment he felt Hermione snuggle into his side.

"So worth it, though," she declared contentedly.

OOOOOOOO

"You wanted to speak to me?" Daphne greeted Harry and Hermione as she sat down opposite them at the table following their splendid Christmas Breakfast, prompting the young man to question what exactly 'wanted' meant in this; he did not really _want _to talk to Daphne, yet he felt it was a necessity.

"If you want to call it 'want'…" his girlfriend muttered next to him, giving voice to his thoughts. "But basically, yes."

Their friend looked at them both curiously, obviously a little worried by their cagey behaviour. So, to not scare her anymore than necessary, Harry began the tale. "Remember how you said we would have to tell you how we can do the things we do?" Getting an insecure nod from the black-haired girl, he continued. "Well, you were right. The reason we can do all these things even though we are still so young is simply that we are older than we seem."

And with that introduction, along with copious assistance by his girlfriend, Harry told the tale of the original timeline. From first year, where he had barely survived his second encounter with the self-styled Lord Voldemort, to second year where (just for a change) not only he, but Hermione had almost died as well.

"The basilisk horn!" Daphne exclaimed loudly, the shock etched clearly on her face, as Harry talked about the identity of 'Slytherin's monster'. "That's where the core for my wands came from… so you've killed it already?" Harry nodded, while the young woman opposite of him pondered the implications of what she had been told. "Wait; that means my wands has a piece of Slytherin's monster for a core."

She pulled out one of the magical foci, now looking at it distinctly appalled. As clueless as Harry was feeling at that moment, Hermione seemed to have an idea what was going on. "Don't worry, Daphne," she soothed gently, "this doesn't say anything about you. From what the basilisk told Harry, she was never intended to simply kill students; she was a guardian, put there by Salazar himself and simply misused by Voldemort."

Though Harry knew this was stretching the truth a little, considering Slytherin had completely expected the basilisk to have to kill muggles and muggleborns, he kept silent; giving Daphne even more to contemplate right now seemed like a bad idea. So instead, he continued with the story of his, Weasley and Hermione's exploits, picking it up with the third year's escaped convict, fourth year's tournament, fifth year's secret defence club, sixth year's numerous assassination attempts and finally the horcrux hunt of year seven. To his surprising regret, the young couple had decided to not tell Daphne what exactly they had been hunting and how exactly Harry had been able to return. However, everything else was revealed, from their suspicions and insights regarding potions, all the way through what had already been achieved since their return.

"So, with us basically already beyond OWL curriculum, we had to find other stuff we could study, otherwise we would be bored to death," Harry finished his explanation, hoping that by framing the whole thing as an explanation it would seem more like it was answering a whole host of questions, rather than throwing up a whole lot more. Hermione on her part, simply smiled reassuringly at her friend, while still managing to glare at her boyfriend for suggesting school could ever be boring.

Daphne, on the other hand, just sat there for a while, the thousand-yard-stare adorning her features not exactly an encouraging sign. Harry was just about to freak out when the young woman suddenly seemed to return to the here and now; the befuddled gaze she gave the two of them spoke bounds, though the lack of any animosity was both surprising and reassuring.

Finally, she shook her head a little, and observed sarcastically, "Well, that certainly answers a few questions; to be honest, I had simply expected something like 'we got advanced tutoring at an early age'." Then, levelling a fearful gaze at them both, she went on, "So you're really sure there will be war? That's why you've been preparing like crazy, with this cave, the ship and recruiting the professor."

Hermione nodded sadly. "We hope to be able to prevent another war with Voldemort, but even if we manage that, the purebloods will not take kindly to their power being taken away. They've lived privileged lives for so long, many of them have come to accept it as their birth right, or something. Not all of them, for sure, maybe not even the majority. Problem is, a vocal minority with enough gold to spread around is quite capable of instigating a civil war all on their own. Especially if the majority of decent people just stand by without doing a thing."

With a sad look on her face, and presumably thinking about everything she knew of the wizarding high society, Daphne nodded. "You're probably right," she agreed despondently, "and with how the Ministry's run, I don't think there would be much in their way, certainly not the press." An air of desperation around her, the young runaway shrugged.

"If you don't mind me saying," Hermione noted, after taking a good long look at their friend, "you seem surprisingly composed after hearing all this. I know Sirius surely did not take it as well…"

The addressee just huffed sardonically and gave the young couple opposite her a hard stare. "I suppose I've reached the maximum of reaction to huge news; there's a lot about magic we don't know yet, and your story answers a lot of questions. Now tell me: How can I help?"

OOOOOOOO

Carried by cold winds of the Scottish Highlands, a white snowy owl was winging her way through the snow-covered landscape. On one talon, right where her human had put it, a letter with a small packet had been fastened. Unfortunately, due to both the size and importance of this delivery, Hedwig had been unable to go hunting during her long trip, but she would soon remedy that, for her senses were telling her she was nearing the one it was meant for. Having seen the contents of the packet, the perceptive owl knew she would not be carrying anything on the return trip, freeing her talons for all the mice she could find. Given the season, it would have to be a lot of them; always so skinny in winter, these rodents.

OOOOOOOO

On the table in front of Harry, Hermione, Daphne and Sirius, a mirror was furiously vibrating away. As he picked up the communication mirror, Harry activated the enchantments, and in front of them appeared Professor MacGregor. She looked intensely grim, which was not surprising, given the general theme of the holidays and MacGregor's completely lost family.

"Merry Christmas," Harry greeted cheerily, managing to bring out something on the stern woman's face that almost looked like a smile. "You don't have to hold back; Daphne knows as much as you about us. "

While that was not exactly true, because Daphne knew a good deal more, telling the sometimes-grumpy DADA teacher that might be considered a sticking point. So instead, the newly informed young woman had been briefed beforehand to not reveal too much about what she knew. Along with that, she had been informed that ramping up her occlumency training would be a necessity.

"Merry Christmas," MacGregor grumbled, following similar greetings by the other three people in the cave. "This mirror will certainly be handy."

After giving a fittingly dignified nod, Harry continued with the reason he had called their teacher in the first place. "First, we wanted to inform you of Daphne, here," he led with the most obvious reveal of them all. "You've met Draco Malfoy, so I can only imagine why a wonderful young woman like her would have no interest in being forcefully married to something like _that_."

Surprisingly un-shocked, MacGregor simply nodded for him to continue. Instead, Sirius was the one to go on; it had seemed only fair, considering it had been he that found the ship in the first place. "I have been able to procure a rather unique base of operations for us; a frigate that was once operated by the Royal Navy under the name of _HMS Phoebe_."

In the mirror, the Professor's eyes narrowed critically. Sirius, looking surprisingly out of concept, moved on. "Over a hundred meters long, once housed well over 200 enlisted personnel and officers. It's been completely gutted, though; there's only barebones left. No furniture, hardly any machinery. We're going to put it under the Fidelius later…" Next to him, Hermione cleared her throat. "Fine; Hermione and Harry will put it under the Fidelius later. The engine already runs on magic, but we need someone who can navigate, and were hoping you might know someone."

What followed Sirius' explanation were a few moments of deliberation on MacGregor's part. "I might have someone for you…" she deliberated. "An old friend of my late husband volunteered for service in the Royal Navy, and he finally became the Commander of one of their ships during the Cold War. I think he's retired now, does fishing trips for tourists. He should be able to at least teach someone what they need to know."

OOOOOOOO

AN:

Hi all,

I've recently reread a few of the earlier chapters and corrected some mistakes. I have uploaded the corrected Chapters 1 through 5 here, as well as on my new AO3 account. I would give you the link, but honestly, doing that whole spacing thing so FFN doesn't delete the link is really annoying. I trust you to be able to look for the author alexandertheII on AO3, should you wish to read the story over there.

As always, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review and enjoy your weekend,

alexandertheII


	43. Chapter 43: I hate the short headings

**Chapter 43: Kicking Back and Finding Names**

Sirius threw another look at his godson and the boy's girlfriend, peacefully sleeping in 'their' bed; in a way, he knew that Harry was not a boy, much in the same way that Hermione was not a girl. Still, having held a squirming, little baby Harry just eleven years ago sometimes made that hard to accept. After the tremendous exhaustion of casting the Fidelius Charm a second time in little more than a weak, their faces were showing clear signs of the toll it had taken on them.

Based on his experience from the first time they had done this, Sirius expected them to sleep for at least a few hours more, so he decided to do one of the first of his duties as secretkeeper and bring one of their most important allies to the ship. As had been agreed upon, he quickly dressed in warm and water-proof gear before disapparating.

He reappeared in an empty side-street in the small muggle town close to Potter Castle; empty, that was, barring one other person. Waiting for him in the back-alley was Professor MacGregor, her stern face morphed into what could only be described as express displeasure.

"You're late," she observed very calmly. "I do not appreciate it…"

Silently chuckling about the years spent in the UK obviously not being able to stamp the stereotypical German out of her completely, Sirius offered her his hand, while trying his best to portray his best 'scolded scoundrel face'.

"My apologies, Professor," he greeted. "Sirius Black. I had to check on Harry and Hermione again before leaving for our appointment; the Fidelius really took a lot out of them."

MacGregor nodded curtly, though not unfriendlily, and accepted his arm. "Maria MacGregor. You may call me Maria, if we are to work together as closely as I assume. Now please, let me see what you have been able to acquire."

Without any more of a preamble, Sirius gripped her arm harder and spun into the tight embrace of apparition for the second time in as many minutes. The moment of landing was a bit hard on him, considering he had not had that much exposure to the process for around a decade and that it took quite a bit out of the human body to be transported like this. Next to him, Maria was faring far better; instead of hunched over and held up by her own hands on her knees, she stood straight-backed on the coast where Sirius had first taken Harry to show him the ship. Yet, he was aware that to his guest, there could be nothing but the windswept sea.

"The _HMS Phoebe _is anchored in a small bay along the southern coast of England," he told her, aware that he was still sounding rather winded due to the strain of repeated apparition. Funnily enough, while he himself was not affected at all, Sirius was able to determine the moment the charm clouding the professor's perception was lifted by the appreciative expression that snuck itself onto her face.

"We might be able to work with that…" she mused, granting Sirius a seemingly rare smile. "Do those hangar doors work?" Sirius nodded, actually increasing the intensity of the smile on Maria's face. "Good. That means we can safely store brooms and other equipment in the hanger, yet quickly bring them out should the need arise. Do we already know how the Fidelius being put onto a moving object changes the effects?"

"No," the marauder answered, honestly impressed by how quickly the experienced warrior he now realised he was dealing with had started assessing the situation. "Hermione and Harry had a few theories, though. They seem to think that whenever the ships changes position in such a way that it would make the knowledge once given by the secretkeeper invalid the secret would have to be revealed again. Also, they've already installed a crystal that serves as a target for specially enchanted portkeys; I'll need a drop of blood from you, by the way." Taking note of the stormy expression she gave him in return, Sirius added, "You can prick yourself, and even put it on the amulet yourself. It's just that all the portkeys only work for one person each, and only the one to which they are keyed by blood."

This time, Maria's look was more appreciative and actually impressed than anything else. "I can't take credit for this; it's all Harry and Hermione's work," Sirius rushed to make clear.

After all, far be it from him to take credit for anything his pup and his pup's girlfriend did, and although he heard the professor mutter something along the lines of, "I knew they were holding back, just not how much…" he paid it no mind.

"At the moment, we're filling the old ballast tanks with what Harry called ferrous phosphate to hold as much magical energy as possible. Really, the only thing I got from what he was talking about was that, because they don't need to enchant those crystals, they don't need solid crystals. Apparently, this stuff won't just dissolve in humid air. We won't be able to fill it to the brim or the ship would sink, but we should be able to fit a decent amount."

Having nodded along mostly while Sirius had been talking, Maria now took her turn to ask something. "You mentioned navigation, right? I contacted an old friend last night, who would be ready to help. What kind of equipment do you already have?"

And so, Maria MacGregor's extensive tour of the still to be renamed ship began.

OOOOOOOO

The end of the holiday break was coming closer and closer over everything there was for Harry, Hermione, Daphne and Sirius to do; the two Hogwarts attendees had already instructed the two who were set to remain on most of what was to do that included enchanting. Additionally, MacGregor had introduced them to a grizzled old veteran named Martin Connor only days after being asked for help in recruiting a helmsman and navigator. Yet, one important thing still remained to be addressed.

"We have to find a name for this ship," Sirius demanded for at least the tenth time; however, the only thing he achieved by this was to tick off Hermione, who had by then really heard enough of that particular demand. In a way, Harry agreed with them both, although it could really not be said that Sirius' proposals for different names had in any way, shape or form been dignified enough for what this vessel was going to be used for.

So, while they indeed had the former Captain of _HMS Sioux _as their new helmsman, they were still lacking a name for their ship.as their new

Therefore, on the last Saturday of the holidays and only two days before the Hogwarts Express was scheduled to depart, they had gathered in the sparsely furnished mess to finally decide on a name appropriate both for the gravity of their situation and the fact that it was being applied to a warship. This consideration had, unfortunately, already been the reason for the rejection of both _James _and _Lily_ as unsuitable. However, looking at Hermione as he was now, Harry could clearly see her incredible mind was digging for some good idea she already had the first stages of.

"How about _Gwyneth_?" she proposed, and the silence that followed seemed to be a good sign for that particular name. Yet, something was niggling at the back of Harry's mind that there was more to this name than met the eye, more than just an old welsh name. Still, it was only when he saw that MacGregor's eyes had grown suspiciously wet that he remembered: Gwyneth had been the name of the professor's daughter, cruelly taken from her before she even really had a chance to live life to the fullest. If he had not been on board with the name before, he certainly was after that particular realisation.

"Second it," he agreed, giving his professor a warm look and his girlfriend an appreciative nod. "All for it?" Obviously sensing that mood in the room had shifted in a major way, even Sirius agreed to the proposed name.

After MacGregor had excused herself to 'powder her nose', James turned to Harry and Hermione with an inquisitive look. "So, tell me," he began, "what can you tell me about the equipment you've installed on the _Gwyneth_?"

"We've put in a modified altimeter for brooms, a tachometer, compass enchanted with a four-point-spell, an astronavigation suite that sadly only works at night, sea charts and a sextant…" Hermione listed everything they had either installed or procured. "Did I forget anything?" Harry shook his head while Connor nodded, somehow managing to look both contemplative and appreciative.

"Does that work for you, Captain Connor?" Harry inquired, eliciting a genial smile on the grizzled face of the man he had addressed.

"Oh please, Harry, there's no need to be so formal; we'll be seeing a lot of each other, I suspect. It's just Martin, and I was only a Commander when I retired," he replied, giving them an almost wistful look. "Regrettably, command of a destroyer doesn't get you bumped up all the way to Captain. It sounds like you have everything we would need for some solid navigating; have you already tried out how fast she will go?"

It being Hermione's turn to answer this one, she simply shrugged apologetically before replying, "We don't really know; we gather at the very least the 27 knots she could make under non-magical propulsion, but I would gather she can do more now. Sirius is not exactly proficient with ships, so he could not really put her through her paces."

Looking at the contemplative veteran, Harry wondered what exactly the man had expected from their partnership; contrary to MacGregor, he had not hesitated to agree to any kind of secret-keeping measure Hermione and Harry had deemed necessary, nor had he blinked when he had first seen Daphne, who after all was a supposedly kidnapped member of the pureblood elite. Secretly, Harry was wondering if the both agreeable and excitable man had just been missing the feeling of a warship while taking tourists on fishing trips. The boyish grin that appeared on his face only served to strengthen that interpretation.

"Then I'll have to test her limits; that's even better," the Commander observed eagerly.

OOOOOOOO

A pensive expression graced Harry's face as he silently watched the wet English countryside shoot by behind the window of the Hogwarts Express. Around him, Hermione and his group of friends were swapping holiday stories; admittedly, the ones he and Hermione could share were sparse, considering most of the others had been deemed 'classified'. Since the investigation into Daphne's disappearance was far from over, telling anyone about her fate seemed too much of a liability to take. Granted, if it was only a risk for him and Hermione, they would have gladly taken that risk to give their friends peace of mind. Unfortunately, it was also Daphne's continued freedom that hung in the balance if she were found, not to mention the hell this could bring down on Sirius. No, for the moment the whole thing would have to remain as secret as it was and could be.

"So, Harry," he was broken out of his reverie by Tracey, sitting opposite of him and seeming to be missing a piece without her dark-haired friend next to her. "Any special plans, now that school is back on? You and Hermione certainly don't have to spend too much time with actual schoolwork. Any interesting projects lined up?"

Mentally noting to be more careful around Tracey who was sometimes too perceptive for her own good, Harry answered, "Some small things, yeah. Why do you ask?" However, before she could even reply, he had read the explanation from her face: Tracey was gearing up for a lonely time without Daphne there to keep her company.

"Just… curious," the girl replied shiftily, eliciting a sympathetic smile from Harry. "I was thinking we could maybe work on homework together, and I could help you with some of these projects."

Seeing someone he liked very much like this was like a sting to Harry's heart, and obviously Hermione did not feet that much differently. Therefore, despite any security concerns this might raise, she immediately responded, "Of course, Tracey; you can hang out with us right until curfew, if that's what you want. Merlin knows I understand wanting to be away from any stray shots in Malfoy and Weasley's ongoing feud over who's the laziest, most entitled wizard in Slytherin."

Surprised as he was at Hermione's joke, or rather the kind of joke, Harry could immediately see improvement in Tracey's mood and appreciatively squeezed his girlfriend's hand. Being able to hold her hand in public was a definite pro to being found out. Their confidence bolstered by Tracey being included, the rest of their group soon invited themselves to what had suddenly turned from quiet time for two into a study group. Seeing the questioning look his girlfriend gave him, Harry simply shrugged, resigned as he was to this new development. It seemed they would have to commence their more secretive activities at some other times.

However, eventually and despite his misgivings about their social engagements cutting into their time, Harry could not have been happier at seeing the dejected expression on Tracey's face be replaced by the smile of a very happy young witch.

And so, with only the minor infraction of the trolley lady delivering their admittedly unhealthy afternoon snack, the group of friends happily whiled away the time until the train reached the picturesque village that was Hogsmeade.

OOOOOOOO

The din of hundreds of human voices filled the air, as Hermione, her friends and her boyfriend measuredly paced their steps to the august Great Hall of Hogwarts School. After everything that had happened over the course of the last few weeks, these voices acutely reminded the young woman of something important that one could all too easily forget: These happily chattering voices belonged to children at the youngest and young adults at the oldest, all of whose lives heavily depended on her and Harry. Sure, there were others who would definitely play a part, maybe even a big one; yet, the basic fact that it had been Harry who had returned in time, only to bring her back along with him, told her they were the lynchpin. Now, had their part already been played? Or was the most important yet to come?

Too many questions and no real, reliable answers had always bothered Hermione, even in situations where the stakes were low. Well, with the fate of the world possibly lying on their shoulders, the stakes were far from low. Of course, being the self-diagnosed over-thinker that she was, the young woman had also been worrying about the 'after'. She had no question about her and Harry's commitment to each other, something that honestly surprised her. Still, she had been dealing with the shadow of the 'Dark Lord' hanging over her almost as long as Harry, around nine years. In a morbid way, it had given her a sense of direction, urgency, sense.

What if that sense falling away was something either she or Harry would be unable to bear?

Almost as if sensing her morose thoughts, Harry shoulder-butted her, gave a wicked smile and strode in long steps (as long as his legs could manage, anyway) to the middle of the Gryffindor table where they would usually sit themselves down on occasions when sitting with one's own house was mandatory.

Now that she was no longer dwelling on disturbing, if completely reasonable and wise ruminations on the future, Hermione had the opportunity to take in the Great Hall for a moment. Suddenly, an uneasy feeling she had been having since even before Harry had stirred her became much more understandable: There, at the head table, the throne-like chair on which the headmaster would normally be seated was completely empty. Instead of the old liar, there was his deputy, stepping behind the lectern. Her intimidating glare let the entirety of the school quiet down almost as quickly as Dumbledore's more playful aura would have.

"Pupils," she greeted in that tone that could somehow project both kindness and incredible authority. "After what I hope was a refreshing holiday break and an invigorating time with all of your families, I am pleased to welcome you back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It might feel unusual to receive announcements before the meal on the first day after the winter breaks; however, circumstances have forced this on us."

Some snickering came out of the direction of who Hermione assumed had to be the Weasley twins; as much as she sometimes disagreed with those two, who were sometimes dangerously skirting the line to outright bullying with their pranks, she could understand their amusement in that matter. The idea of anyone forcing Minerva McGonagall to do anything was almost laughable. It also made the idea of her being completely under Dumbledore's sway during everything that had been done to Harry hard to believe.

After another glance had quieted the Weasley twins, McGonagall continued. "As you can see, Professor Dumbledore is currently absent due to a notice we have received over the break. Professor MacGregor, if you please."

Giving a nod in acknowledgement, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher rose from her chair and stared down the captively listening pupils. "It is with regret that I inform you all, that my tenure as a teacher in this noble institution will come to an end by conclusion of this term. While I would have loved the ability to further work with each and every one of you, I have been offered a position I simply could not refuse. I have been assured that everything I have instituted, including the voluntary defence club, will be continued," the stern woman informed the stunned students of her decision. Sure, the older ones had been used to defence teachers leaving by the end of year, but Hermione could very well remember that it somehow always turned out to be a shock anyway.

Her announcement concluded, Maria sat back down, and McGonagall bowed shortly in respect. "Thank you, Professor. It has been an honour working with you," she commented friendlily, yet with that slight undertone that told everyone who knew the fierce deputy headmistress well enough, how much she really did respect her colleague. "Now, as you can see, Professor Dumbledore chose to leave the school to go and find a witch or wizard capable of filling the enormous shoes left behind by the professor. Therefore, I am assuming interim headship of the school, while Professor MacGregor will be assuming interim headship of house Gryffindor to avoid any conflicts of interests. Classes start tomorrow morning according to your timetables. That will be all."

Shortly pondering the weirdness of a notice like this without any of Dumbledore's eccentricities to 'spice it up', so to speak, Hermione watched the people around her fill up their plates with often almost humorous amounts of food. Hermione, having always despised the somewhat disgusting eating habits of her schoolmates, simply waited for the first frenzy to die out; she would even be able to take her time and carefully pick what exactly she wanted.

Not to mention the fact that it gave her the time to think about something else: Why had Dumbledore left the school? Because in all honesty, even when he wanted to give the search for a new teacher his all, his abilities should have allowed him to do exactly the same from the warm confines of his office.

"_What are you up to, old man?" _Hermione mused, just before she was nudged in the side by her very own, black-haired, time-travelling boyfriend.

"Don't you want to eat?"

OOOOOOOO

"No, no!" Sirius insisted on his standpoint repeatedly, and in a way that felt entirely unfamiliar. "I will teach you whatever you want, in due course, but that one will have to wait."

The pouty look appearing on Daphne's face was almost enough to melt down Sirius' resistance. However, on this particular issue, he would be adamant.

"Why not?" the teen argued loudly, gently reminding Sirius of himself at around her age.

"Because apparition is difficult, and very dangerous when done incorrectly," he explained. "There's a reason not even the Marauders tried learning it. Not before sixth year, that is."

The look on Daphne's face was one Sirius interpreted as reluctant acceptance. She had been told numerous stories of the infamous Marauders and their school-time exploits, enough to know that they had seldomly held back. The fact that they had in this case seemed to at least give her pause.

"I'll cut you a deal," Sirius offered the teenager, hoping that what he had in mind would be enough of a distraction to let Daphne deal with her friends starting classes that very same morning. "We'll finish breakfast, then I'll take us to the _Gwyneth_. Martin will be there later this day, so we can test how the Fidelius works with the moving ship. We can work on the deck or in the hangar until then. Or we could continue fitting out the ship with all the stuff it still needs."

The young, black-haired woman Sirius was beginning to regard more and more fondly (definitely a weird feeling, especially if the person receiving it was not a Potter or a Marauder) returned to her English breakfast at least somewhat mollified. The last Black, who was sitting opposite her at the table in their little cave hideout, patted himself on the shoulder internally while contentedly munching on his toast covered in a thick layer of marmalade.

The meal done with, and before either of them were able to make any move towards cleaning their dishes, Fips appeared, whisked away the used plates and cutlery, gave Sirius a jaunty salute and disappeared again. Barely five minutes later (Daphne sure was fast, if she wanted to) they vanished with the weird feeling of a portkey grabbing them behind the navel.

OOOOOOOO

"Someone is on the floo," Xavier heard his wife's just about respectful voice sound from her dressing room, adjacent to the bedroom they used to share. Giving the lonely guest bedroom he had recently been relegated to a distasteful look, the Greengrass patriarch slowly made his way down to the entrance hall where the main fireplace was located. It had been a good idea to locate the floo there, because it meant that not everyone would start showing up in his study. Still, in taking calls the location had its disadvantages.

What awaited him in the fire was admittedly surprising: Framed by the lowly glowing embers of the dying flames, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore's aged, wrinkled face was sitting in the fireplace.

"Lord Greengrass," the kindly old man greeted, his tone immediately putting Xavier on edge. There was a certain quality to Dumbledore's voice that he did not trust. "Would you kindly agree for me to step through? I have need to talk to you about your daughter, Daphne."

Now, even though Xavier did not trust the old man as far as he could throw a fully grown mountain troll (he ascribed to the maxim of 'the grander the façade, the more rotten the core'), the chance for any news about his daughter was incredibly hard to pass off. If even a fraction of what Dumbledore had to say could be verified by more 'reliable' sources, he might even have a real chance of finding the wayward girl. Therefore, with little regard for safety precautions he was sure the headmaster would be able to negate anyway, should the man wish to do so, Xavier bade him through.

After taking an almost inordinate amount of getting situated at the lounge table during which he was smiling his most annoying of smiles, Dumbledore finally looked the Greengrass patriarch square in the face with those twinkling blue eyes that seemed to burn down a person's souls; mentally thanking his parents for his rather intense training on Legilimency, Xavier addressed the headmaster head on.

"Professor, you were saying you had reason to believe you knew something about my daughter?" he asked, keeping things as polite as he could in that moment. "Please, excuse my brusque manner, but I'm sure you can understand the enormous pressure I am under."

Another few moments had passed, before the aged wizard gave an almost imperceptible nod. "I do," he replied ambiguously. "Yet, as much as it pains me to do this, Xavier," the addressee bristled at the uninvited familiarity, "this information is not something that can be given freely. Nothing untoward, I assure you, but I will expect something in return; the occasional morsel of information. And we could begin right here, right now, with you telling me what exactly you know of your daughter's friends."

This was something that admittedly surprised Xavier; money, sure, political support, absolutely. But knowledge about the friends of a girl who had barely reached her teens. It was puzzling, to say the least. Or at least it was, until one took into account who belonged into Daphne's circle of friends. Maybe the relations between the boy-who-lived and the Vanquisher of Grindelwald were indeed as bad as it seemed. Again bristling, this time at being forced to reveal such valuable intelligence, even if it was impossible to actually tell Dumbledore about the contract between the Potter boy and Greengrass Elixirs, Xavier nevertheless saw no other possibility than to comply with the request.

However, there was one more thing he wanted to be asked beforehand. "Why exactly do you want to know about Daphne's friends?"

That annoying, hard edge back to his face, the headmaster answered with a counter-question. "Do you really think your daughter came up with running away all by herself?"

In that moment, everything suddenly started to make sense; Daphne had never really run away, not of her own free choice. No, she had been reared well; she had just been affected by malicious outside forces that wanted to tear his family to the curb.

"_Not with me," _Xavier grumbled quietly, before starting to fill the headmaster in on everything he could without invoking the penalty clauses he was sure that dam mudblood had put into their contracts just to mess with him.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hi all,

While before, I've gone to some lengths to not deviate from any real history, I deliberately did so in this instance. There was, as far as my research tells me, never a ship named HMS Sioux. However, since I wanted to proclaim someone as the former captain of a ship, I did not intend to step on the toes of the persons who have actually held that position. Therefore, I made up a new ship for the Brits to add it to their _Tribal _class of destroyers. Truly amazing, the things a writer can do.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter, leave a review and enjoy your day,

alexandertheII


	44. Chapter 44: Feeding the Fishes

**Chapter 44: Feeding the Fishes**

"Attention, class," MacGregor announced from her usual spot standing behind the teacher's table in her defence classroom, and all around the room the sounds and lights of spellcasting stopped almost immediately. She certainly had a certain aura that demanded attention. "Two things: firstly, homework will be a 500-word essay on the impact of your emotional state on the power and exact shape of your spells as explored during today's class, due next Tuesday. Secondly, every Gryffindor member will be attending a mandatory counselling session regarding future prospects and which and how many electives to take in the second week of June. A plan will be posted on the black board. Yes, Miss Brown?"

The last part had been directed at lavender who up until then had been mostly doodling around on spare parchment with one of 'Black's Signature, Neverending Inkers'. Now, though, the girl had raised her hand. "Professor, what about Professor McGonagall? And why do we have to attend these sessions? None of the other houses have to."

MacGregor's eyes seemed to glower a bit at the mostly nice, though sometimes somewhat lazy girl, before she moved to answer. "I honestly do not much care what the other houses do, to be honest; I for one find at least getting some advice for something that will profoundly affect your later life quite reasonable," she answered, her no-nonsense tone brooking no discussion on either the importance of or the fact that attendance was mandatory at, these meetings. "As for Professor McGonagall, I am currently unaware, when she will return to her duties. In any case, the meetings will be held with me, as they are happening on my initiative. Dismissed."

Within seconds the crowd of students swelled immensely as everyone started to almost jump to their feet, followed by immediately swelling as the mass of humanity pressed through the classroom door and into the corridor. The only people remaining were Harry, Hermione, Neville, Susan and Hannah, who measuredly tracked outside after giving their teacher a nod goodbye.

During the time between the beginning of the second term and the month of May, this being the next-to-last week before the Easter break, a few things had stood out. Firstly, the Scottish Highlands in spring were infinitely more pleasant an experience than the Scottish Highlands in Winter. Secondly, if a story was embarrassing to Lucius Malfoy, the Daily Prophet really did not print it, or so it seemed. Indeed, after around a week of reporting into the term, coverage of Daphne's disappearance had tapered off almost into nothing. All the while, the young woman in question had by all accounts been coping with her change in circumstances surprisingly well. Honestly, as far as Harry could see, Sirius had more difficulty adjusting than she did.

Last but not least, though, was one more important observation: School had become intensely boring. Even with everything else they tended to do during all their classes, Harry and to a lesser degree Hermione, had become increasingly bored in class. Sure, they had both been doing a number of side-projects after quickly finishing whatever task had been set for that particular lesson, but since their classes rarely allowed for anything other than reading to be done covertly, especially Harry was growing restless. Considering all that, the idea of soon being able to at least pick electives was a great relief.

To an expected bout of the giggles from the other two girls they had shared their class with, Harry and Hermione left behind their group of friends and started heading for a particular bathroom on the second floor they had recently seen a lot of. With the room being thankfully silent, meaning completely free of the Moaning Myrtle's admittedly annoying presence, they stepped in front of the old, dilapidated sink. With a silent hiss of _"Open!" _Harry made the appliance do exactly that. With an almost inordinate amount of glee, the young couple jumped into the slide that would be taking them down into what had once been Slytherin's chamber of secrets. As it had turned out, removing the guck and the danger of a basilisk at the end tended to make the whole thing more enjoyable. With magic lighting all over the halls that awaited, as well as the small animal bones removed, the whole thing had an almost secure feeling to it.

The doors to the inner chamber had been jacked open and freed up the view into the radically refurbished space. With the aid of some very helpful elves, they had placed a number of workbenches around the ugly statue of Slytherin, spaced some firepits around the room and even added some seating. All in all, it served as a capable retreat whenever one of their considerably sized group of friends was using the Room of Requirements; and whatever they could not do in the chamber proper, they could always do in the Box of Requirement that was placed next to one of the old sofas.

"Are we really sure we can't tell everyone over the Easter break?" Hermione asked after they had cuddled up together. "I hate lying to our friends. Especially Tracey…"

Harry groaned a little in agreement before he answered. "You said it yourself: just because the Prophet is not talking about it anymore, doesn't mean the Ministry isn't still looking for her. We agreed on the Summer, we should stick to it."

"And agonising over it again and again will only lead to the same conclusion being drawn," Hermione finished up what she had said herself before. "Honestly, when did our life become so complicated?"

He just chuckled darkly, before taking note of one other thing. "You said our life?" Harry observed, unable to keep the astonishment out of his voice. Judging by her expression, Hermione herself was surprised by what had clearly been intended to be only a passing remark.

"I guess I did," she responded. Obviously not willing to spend more time discussing what exactly she had meant with the remark, Hermione instead addressed something else they had been working on. "How are those mage-lights faring, by the way?"

This, in turn, elicited less of a dopey smile and more of an annoyed grumble on the part of Harry. "Underwhelming, to say the least," he responded. "When you were working on that secret project you did not want to tell me about, I tried it out. The enchantments just work a bit too well, and the damn thing keeps almost blinding me," the young inventor answered, studiously avoiding any reaction to Hermione's admonishment about his language. "It would make a great tool for incapacitating enemies, but other than that it's practically useless like this."

As he looked back up from his brief bout of self-pity, Harry saw nothing of what he had expected to see on his girlfriend's face. Instead of the light annoyance coupled with incredible zeal at getting to crack a problem, he only saw happy elation.

"I know what to do," Hermione declared self-assuredly. "Would you kindly get the enchantments for our Room duplicates? I am especially interested in the part where we limit the amount of power flowing directly into the enchantment."

OOOOOOOO

On a menacingly dark painted warship making quick passage through the waters of the North Atlantic, a house elf was leaning across the railing and 'feeding the fishes', as the skipper kept calling it. Had it not been for the little creature's piteous state, Jarpey would have already left of course. However, the nausea that went along with the seasickness his first high wind had brought on would not allow him to apparate in a safe manner. Therefore, the elf had been left with little choice but to remain on the ship, strapped to the railing with a strong rope to 'enjoy' the modest comfort the fresh, salty air was able to give him.

"Well, that one's a landlubber," Martin commented as he watched in amusement, while the small form bent over the side of the ship again. "Those waves are 15, maybe 16 feet at most. Real shame, I like that elf."

In response, Sirius snorted a little. "I think he'll be happy to return to Potter Castle," he observed. "That one is the builder and caretaker; he just wouldn't be happy to stay away from his home for too long."

The group of three humans, as well as a considerable contingent of very excited house elves were somewhere between the Faroe Islands and Iceland, taking the newly restored _Gwyneth _on her shakedown cruise. While the original plan had only entailed Sirius, Daphne and Martin, a few of the house elves had overheard, and when it came out that their itinerary included, more than a few had simply invited themselves. Unused to the usually servile creatures being so bold, Sirius had inquired as to why they were being assertive, all the while trying his best not to sound in anyway inconvenienced or even accusing. Running afoul of Hermione would not do at all.

"Iceland where elveses be coming from," had been the short, not all that informative answer. Still, a group of around fifteen of Potter castle's twenty elven residents had proceeded to set up bedding in some of the rooms left unfurnished, and were now still working away on the ongoing transformation of what had once been a mere part of a fleet into a viable base of operations.

As far as the other parts of the crew were concerned that was no big problem, as it turned out the rather large ship had a lot of space available for everyone. That was especially true, after all the muggle machinery had been moved out and replaced with much more space-effective magical counterparts. The only other human currently on the _Gwyneth _could be seen from the helm as well; Daphne was at her favourite spot on the empty foredeck, standing and bracing the wind calm as can be. Not even the rocking the vessel received from the strong waves seemed to affect her all that much. Obviously noticing where Sirius' attention had shifted, Martin harrumphed a little.

"She could make a fine sailor, one day," he commented, giving the young woman an appreciative glance. "Respects the sea, that one, but doesn't fear it."

Feeling any observation on his part was as superfluous as it was unqualified, Sirius simply let his mind wander over the weeks and months he had now spent with Daphne. This person, trapped in a weird place between child and adult due to her experience and her age, who had just swooped in and turned his life around. Sure, he was still out on many nights, and occasionally he would even have a delectable female of the human species with him right until breakfast, but there was something different now. Before, Sirius was honest enough at least with himself. to know that his life had been without a sort of focal point. Not pointless, or anything like that, yet Harry and Hermione simply did not need Sirius the way their younger friend did. Over the past months, the old Marauder had repeatedly surprised both himself and Daphne by actually taking the parental role that he really should have been filling for Harry. The role the events had taken from him.

Everything had not been without hitches, evidently; especially memorable had the instance been, in which Sirius had tried to send an already indignant Daphne to bed. Suffice it to say, it had not gone over well. However, were one to average it all out, things were going great, and the teenager seemed to immensely enjoy a few freedoms she had not had while living under the rather strict rules of a traditionally minded, pureblood family.

A happy smile plastered to his face, Sirius returned his attention to the yarn the old sea dog next to him had been spinning for a while now.

"…and there it was; at least a hundred feet, I tell you. Biggest rogue wave I've ever seen…"

OOOOOOOO

For Astoria Greengrass, her last year before she would be starting Hogwarts was going decidedly medium. Apart from the fact that her sister had gone missing, the reason for which little Tori even had an idea, even though she was unable to confirm it, her father had been giving her an unprecedented level of attention. Again, that was both good and bad, somehow. On one hand, which kid would dislike attention from their parents? Especially if that attention came paired with gifts and even more positive attention in case she succeeded in the tasks given to her. On the other hand, there were the tasks themselves. They came in many different forms, obviously, but to a smart and attentive childlike Astoria Greengrass, they all had a certain basic structure to them.

She would be taught by someone, sometimes her parents, sometimes some tutor, about some topic that someone would invariably comment upon by saying something like 'a proper lady'. She remembered Daphne getting some of these lessons as well, and even she herself had had a few of them over the years, but the frequency had certainly changed. Or at least, that had been the case up until around the second week of March. After almost two and a half months of being constantly pestered about stuff she really did not care about, it had suddenly stopped. And to Tori's great relief, that is, because contrary to her sister, she was a child that loved getting dirty, both figuratively and literally. She loved playing around in the stream that represented the back-border of the family's manor, or simply flying around on her broom, no matter the weather. Whirling around the house, making mischief or causing mayhem, also featured high on the list. But etiquette? Not that much.

Still, Tori was neither stupid not naïve; there had to be a reason her father was suddenly distracted from her, seemed almost manic, and she had the distinct impression that reason was Daphne. How she felt about that, she had really no idea.

OOOOOOOO

The second term of their second second year had gone by extremely quickly for Harry, Hermione and their circle of friends. Before anyone had really had the time to process what was happening, they were on the train back to King's Cross for their Easter break, chatting away about what they were planning for the week.

"I wish we could have spent some time at the castle again," Tracey complained, still rather shaken from suddenly being without her best friend. "Don't get me wrong, Iceland sounds great, but still…" Her voice petered out, and the conversation moved on.

"So, how are you getting around up there?" Neville asked, having been avidly interested in their travel plans from the moment he had heard of them. "Apparition is out, I guess, since Sirius doesn't know the place yet, and zapping around you and Hermione would be a bit much for him, anyway."

Not having expected the amount of interest in their travelling plans, Harry and Hermione had had to make up some last-minute excuses and explanations. Some of which Hermione was now beginning to relate. "We're taking a ship around the west coast. We won't get far in a week, of course, but we can always come back and explore more. The magical history of Iceland is supposed to be rather interesting, and we'll even be able to take a look at some of the artefacts from the era in which it was settled. They even have a Viking ship replica in a museum."

Against their, probably blue-eyed, belief, these explanations did not quell the interest of their friends in any way. Therefore, a good deal of the next hour was spent laying out their unfinished itinerary for their friends. Contrary to Harry and Hermione, and making it especially awkward to be talking about traveling arrangements, were the plans their friends had for the break; while the last Potter and his brilliant girlfriend (as he liked to think of her) were all caught up on homework and essays, or rather would be in a heartbeat, they had to work. With focus in Hogwarts shifting to the coming end-of-year exams, the various professors had started handing out coursework like Dumbledore did his sherbet lemons, meaning plenty and without much regard for whatever else was going on.

Looking at it all with a bit of hindsight, Harry could honestly say he had been complaining a little too much about school during his first stint; sure, there was a lot to do, but especially the lower years were afforded a good deal of free-time, too. As well they should be, Harry mused.

"Enough of our trip," Hermione finally declared after someone had asked yet another question about their upcoming vacation. Judging from the giggling and the source of the question being Hannah, it had been the kind of question that was likely to drive both Harry and Hermione's face red.

OOOOOOOO

In the early evening hours of Saturday, the Hogwarts Express slowly made its way along the last few meters of its journey to London, already showing the eagerly waiting faces of parents expecting their children home for what little time they had between terms. In the back of the crowd, and unusually held back compared to his usual mode of operation, Hermione could see Sirius Black waiting for her and her boyfriend with a small travel bag and an inviting smile he directed at her as soon as he spotted her watching him through the window. All of a sudden, and without a real explanation as to why, Hermione was feeling unaccountably nervous. There was something about Sirius that seemed… off. Even looking at him from the distance out of the moving train, he had been looking more his age than she ever remembered him in her current timeline. In the one she had left behind, however… she could remember him having that aura of maturity a few times, some of which had been the talks she had shared with the man. Still, during those, he had always carried a burden on his shoulders, a weighting pushing down on him; now, he seemed to be without that weight.

Over her musings, the train had finally reached the end of the platform and come to a halt. All over the cart the many small feet of dozens of children were audible as they stampeded out into the waiting embraces of their parents and siblings; with most students only taking light luggage back home during the Easter break, everything was a much less crowded feel to it. Within minutes, the group had first stepped outside the door closest to their compartment, said goodbye and then dispersed to meet their assorted relatives.

"Hiya pup, hello Hermione," they were greeted by a cheerily grinning Sirius, who was then promptly afforded one of Hermione Granger's more bone-crushing embraces. Sure, the man had the tendency to make her blow her top, and she was never easy on him either, but she did genuinely love that childish oaf. Not to mention that aura of seriousness he now had around him that she thought to be extremely well-fitting.

"Greetings," Harry began in a formal, almost deferential tone, before he jokingly added, "mutt."

Almost as if proving that seriousness would never be able to truly catch up to him, Sirius laughed uproariously, before grabbing both their hands and popping them away. The group reappeared in a dank alleyway Hermione thought she had seen before and assumed was rather close to the station.

"Couldn't we just have walked somewhere to use the portkeys?" Hermione questioned the still grinning man before her. "We do have legs, you know?"

Feigning hurt at her remark, Sirius grabbed his obviously thick and warm coat right over his heart before he answered. "We could have," he admitted, "but that would have meant you having to wait longer before you can see what I have to show you. Believe you me, this will be worth it; see you on the ship."

And with that, Sirius activated his one-person portkey, whisking him away.

"Here goes," Harry declared and made to follow him.

"Honestly," Hermione commented exasperatedly, even though she was now alone in the darkening back alley. "A little patience never hurts." Then, with a pull behind the navel, she was gone as well.

OOOOOOOO

Down below, in her home's entrance hall, Tori could hear the raised voices of two men. This was not an unusual occurrence, especially as of late. Over the years and as far back as she could remember, many a business associate had been less than thrilled with the way things had progressed between them and Greengrass Elixirs, and while most of these disputes would usually happen behind the closed doors of her father's private study (the anti-eavesdropping charms of which were ridiculously easy to bypass for a crafty child like her), sometimes they would start or end in the hall. It seemed this was one of these times. However, what was odd was that she had not been aware her father had someone over.

"…Astoria is too young…" she heard the raised voice of her father drift up the stair well. That decided it: She would have to go snooping a bit, especially if this discussion involved her. Carefully situating herself in her usual hiding-spot for these kinds of occasions, Tori was able to hear more of the discussion unfold.

"…have an idea what happened and how to find her now," her father said to the other mystery person who was with him. "I think she was somehow manipulated into this; my daughter knew of her duty to her family and would not have simply thrown her part in our future away."

"I do hope so," the sneering voice, which Tori now decided belonged to Lucius Malfoy answered. "You do not want to make an enemy of me, Greengrass, or run afoul of your contractual obligations. I know many people at the Ministry who would be very interested to find out everything about what your potion business deals with on the side."

Only seconds had passed after the last word had been said, before the large front door fell shut ominously, and a trail of heavy steps were starting to make their way up the stairs. With the agility and poise only a child that routinely started trouble could have, Tory dashed back to her rooms to process, what she had just witnessed.

What she did understand of it, and that was far from the whole thing, she did not like at all.

OOOOOOOO

The whirling vortex of colours and sounds that had been encompassing Harry since he had activated his portkey shortly after Sirius suddenly blinked out of existence ended, and with a dull thud, he landed on the metal floor of one of the old enlisted quarters of the _Gwyneth. _Barely able to steady himself on his protesting godfather, Harry had only seconds to wait for Hermione to appear, too; seeing her stumbling as well after the intense dizziness prolonged portkey travel obviously created, he launched to her side, grabbed her arm with a firm, yet soft hand and held her up.

After clearing her head with a small shake that for some reason reminded Harry of both a cat and Hedwig, she flashed him a grateful smile, followed by a distasteful look at the portkey-necklace still visible around Harry's neck

"I might not like brooms all that much, but they are certainly not worse than this," she complained, hitting the nail (mostly) in the head concerning Harry's feeling for this particular way of travelling, as well. "Thanks for catching me," she smiled at him, before pressing a light kiss onto his happily receiving cheek.

Waiting for them in the corner of the 'arrival room', as it had been dubbed, Sirius raised an eyebrow at the couple's coupley antics before waving them through the door and into the hall.

"We've made up most of the ship's quarters, ready to move in," he explained, pointing down a few of the doors they passed along the way. "Your choice, whether you want to have a room each, or bunk together in the old Captain's quarters…"

At the implied question, Harry looked to the young woman holding his hand and raised an eyebrow, not unlike Sirius had done earlier. Receiving the smile and nod he had been hoping for, he turned back to his godfather and answered, "We'll take the large room."

Their mood now considerably lifted by being distracted from the remaining dizziness with the prospect of having each other there to cuddle with for the coming week, they continued following Sirius on his guided tour of the ship.

"There's the mess; we completely replaced all the equipment." Was followed by, "That's the way to the hangar. We hung as many brooms on the walls as we could, and if the weather is calm, you can open the hangar door and use the helipad as a shooting range." Soon, Harry and Hermione had been given a complete overview of what had been changed around the ship during the months they had spent at school. To say they were at a loss for words would have been an understatement.

"Sometimes I forget what you can achieve with magic," Harry marvelled, as they let their gazes sweep over what had once been the officers' mess, but was now a small, functional library. Considering what they were looking at, Harry was not surprised as he felt Hermione's waist slip from his grasp and her arm vanishing from around his shoulder. Almost in an instant, she was all over the place, looking through the rows of books with the special 'library-smile' she only showed when given free reign over an intriguing assortment of printed parchment.

"Come on, you two," Sirius interrupted, just before Harry was about to join her; spending as much time with Hermione as he did, it was impossible to not pick some of her love for books. "Daphne is chafing to see both of you."

Hearing their friend was in need of seeing them would always be able to shake Hermione from her reverie, although Harry had the idea that she might not have been occupied for long anyway; catching the almost annoyed glance she gave the few bookshelves that lined the small room he guessed his lovely bookworm of a girlfriend had been unable to find any new material.

From the tiny library, they followed Sirius up a few ladders until they reached the _Gwyneth's _helm, or at least that was what Harry assumed. With little time to take in the space now unfolding in front of him, he was hit by a dark-haired projectile that proceeded to hug first him and then Hermione to within an inch of their lives. Considering he had been getting more and more used to his girlfriend's hugs, and that Hermione was the one actually doling them out, what Daphne had achieved was no mean feat.

"Hermione," the one young witch greeted the other, whom she still had in a death grip. "It's so good to see you. And you too, Harry." Before he could process what was happening, he had been pulled into another hug; less crushing this time, yet just as tight. Over Daphne's shoulder, he could see Sirius smiling at the scene before him in what Harry characterised as a mixture of amusement and fond indulgence. However, what really captivated Harry's gaze was the vista that showed behind his godfather.

A good distance away lay a green shore, both craggy and gentle in a way that to describe Harry would not be able to find the word. The low-hanging clouds gave everything a sombre mood, despite the sun still shining a bit weakly through holes in the grey blanket that was covering the entire sky. As far as he was able to see, the area seemed to be completely lacking any trees, yet the rough terrain did nothing to detract from the incredible beauty of nature laid out before him; a different kind of beauty, sure.

The kind of beauty that had the potential of making one feel insignificant and gigantic at the same time.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Greetings, dear readers,

Not much to say, honestly. Enjoy the chapter, leave a review, yadda yadda yadda…

Enjoy your day,

alexandertheII


	45. Chapter 45: Aurora

**Chapter 45: Aurora**

"So, they really met here, before Hogwarts was even founded?" Sirius asked incredulously, looking at the green landscape with the sharp, water-filled trench and the picturesque lake. "Awfully cold to hold a government meeting, don't you think?"

Visibly frustrated with what was either genuine interest or an extremely successful attempt at annoying her, Hermione massaged her temples and sighed a little. They were standing on a small hill, overlooking Þingvellir, the site that their muggle-made travel guidebook confidently called the 'oldest remaining parliament of the world'. It was somewhat understandable that the people of this island were proud of their heritage, and more than a thousand years of something even approaching democracy was certainly impressive; yet classing what was basically a selection of fields as a parliament was rather far-fetched, she had to admit.

"I think they would have used tents, and big warm fires," Daphne observed. Their dark-haired friend had joined the group in taking some of the brooms stored in what had once been the helicopter hangar to the site that had been earmarked for some exploration during their planning session the night before; of course, given that they had been employing brooms, Hermione had happily shared one with Harry, pressing up to her boyfriend the whole time and squeezing her eyes shut.

Of course, taking Daphne out from under the Fidelius had been a risky endeavour, even considering the fact they were literally hundreds of kilometres away from anyone who might have been looking for her. Still, the precautions they had taken were considerable: She had been decked out in a slight glamour charm and supplied with a potion of rather illicit nature that was used to fool tracking charms. Where and how exactly Sirius had gotten hold of it, Harry had not been interested in finding out.

"Ah, all nature and history," Harry's godfather complained, "I liked Reykjavik much better. The booze might have set me back quite a bit, but that 'Black Death' stuff really gives you a kick."

In response, Harry only managed to groan annoyedly, as he proceeded to remember the preceding evening; yes, Sirius really had been a very happy camper after consuming a good portion of the half litre bottle of liquor, just as Martin had been. However, none of them had had to go out and search for one of them either, only to find their godfather and the helmsman in a hotel room, both nursing a bad hangover and lacking big chunks of their night. Luckily, and with Hermione's help, Harry had been able to piece together their location from the drunk mirror-calls he had received. Still, as far as he was concerned, Sirius was going to be tagged with a tracking charm for the already announced bender he was going to go on for their last evening on the island.

The fondly annoyed expression on Hermione's face seemed to mirror his state of mind perfectly. "As long as you don't expect us to pity you the next morning," she huffed. "Hangover-cure is all well and good, but you know quite well that the only thing that really helps is time. And don't expect me to brew any of that stuff for you, again, either."

Hearing this, Sirius feigned hurt for a bit, before he returned to reading the description in the guidebook, all the while leading the group back along increasingly narrow and overgrown paths and to the sheltered area where they had landed and dispelled their disillusionment charm. In a backwards recreation of their arrival at the historically important site, Hermione summoned their brooms from the depths of her space-extended backpack, along with their heat-charmed clothes. With everyone decked out appropriately (or as appropriately as it was possible on an island where the weather tended to change in intervals of what felt like minutes), Sirius applied the disillusionment charm back to himself and Daphne, as well as their broom, and Hermione made herself and her boyfriend virtually indistinguishable from the background.

The sinking sun in front of them, the group set off westward where they knew they would hit shore. With what to Harry felt like it would read as around 50km/h had he been able to properly read his tachometer, they reached the sea north of the small nation's capital less than an hour later, at which point he went into a lazy turn north, where he knew they would find… whatever it was they were looking for. Even knowing that there was a Fidelius Charm protecting their base of operations, suddenly not knowing was definitely a unique experience. He had no idea where Sirius and Daphne were, but he did not much care either way. As much as it sometimes did not seem that way, his godfather was actually an adult, and Harry was sure he would move heaven and earth to keep Daphne safe. Additionally, and this was immensely comforting as well, they both still had their portkeys.

Seeing as it was getting late, Harry accelerated the broom a good bit, until they were flying at what had to be double the speed they had been travelling at before, making him incredibly grateful to Hermione for having charmed their clothes. Suddenly, he could feel a vibration at his back, and only the enchantments embedded in these travelling brooms intended to smooth out ones flying protected them from violently jerking in the air; not that he had a real problem with some more wild flying, but he had a feeling Hermione would not appreciate it.

"Can you slow down a bit," the girl cuddling up to him almost screamed in that moment, reminding Harry that there was still a communication mirror vibrating in her coat-pocket. With as much deceleration as comfort allowed, he slowed down and tried to listen in on the mirror-call Hermione was now taking.

"Hey, Sirius," she greeted the man on the other side. "Sorry you can't see us, but we're still in flight and under the disillusionment charm," Hermione explained what was probably an interesting view on the other end of that call. "Can you give us the location?"

"The _Gwyneth _is anchored just north of Helissandur on the peninsula of Snæfellsnes," he relayed loudly enough for Harry to hear, at which point the pieces fell back into place inside his head; truly an odd feeling, that was. "Daphne and I took the portkeys back, she was getting cold," the marauder continued unbidden. In response to what Harry could only assume Sirius thought was the look Hermione was giving him, the man continued, "Fine, I was getting cold."

Now, Harry could actually _feel _his girlfriend shaking with uncontained mirth against his back. "I told you, you should have accepted the additional enchantments," she half-scolded.

Sirius, for his part, just huffed. "You just get back here first, then we'll talk. Let's see how warm you feel then," he rebutted. "See you later."

After he had given Hermione a few moments to reorganise herself and put the mirror back, where it belonged, Harry accelerated the broom again, now flying straight over the water and toward the white-capped mountain in the distance with the unpronounceable name that was somehow not even the worst of the bunch; Sdnayfelsyokittl, or something along the lines one of the people in Reykjavik had called it.

Around an hour had passed, until they could see the single position light of the _Gwyneth _in the distance; Harry angled the broom, so it was flying straight at the single, white light that had been added to what had formerly been the ship's funnel. While his mage-lights had not turned out the way he wanted them, at least not yet, they were almost perfect for this use. Because, what was better than light to find a ship on the water? An extremely bright light, of course. Within minutes, Harry and Hermione's feet touched the ground where someone had added a giant **B **to the deck, in favour of the former giant **H**. They stepped through the hangar doors gingerly, legs stiff from the long flight on a rather uncomfortable vehicle, put sad vehicle back to it its place on the wall, and joined the rest of the crew in the ship's mess.

After a short dinner and his evening rituals, Harry soon fell into bed next to Hermione, who kissed him on the cheek and whispered, "You know, when used like this, maybe brooms aren't half bad."

They both fell asleep that night with a smile on their faces.

OOOOOOOO

A good thousand kilometres to the south, a regal owl that somehow managed to look even more conceited than many of the other members of its kind, was making its way across the English West Country. Had it cared for such things, the place it had just passed would have been considered picturesque, but the owl did not care for these things much. Instead, the one receiving the message was holed up in a small house close to the village, nothing much, as the owl's owner had determined. Never having been there, of course, he had determined it was not the Dumbledore family seat, but instead just a small cabin in the woods, far away from any sort of public scrutiny.

"Nothing worth of someone of his stature," he had declared. "Or mine, for that matter. Still, think of all the books I could sell, accepting this position…"

The owl hooted in frustration; humans were a weird bunch, indeed.

OOOOOOOO

"Harry, Hermione," a loud voice pierced through the pleasant nothingness of sleep Hermione had been enjoying, cuddled up as she was against the warm pillow that was her Harry. "Get up, you need to see this," the voice, which she now identified as being Daphne's, continued.

Hearing the groggy grumbling that indicated Harry had also been roused and was now getting up, she guessed she did not have much choice but to find out, what had their friend so excited. That very friend was already dashing out onto the corridor in front of the Captain's quarters again, and Hermione could just about make out, "You'll need warm clothes!" before she was gone. In their usual routine (they had come to the silent agreement that the first time they saw more of each other's body would be something special), Harry moved his action of getting dressed to the bathroom, while she slipped into warm socks, underwear, pants and a warm, woolly pullover. Coupled with her enchanted coat, these layers were sure to be able to deflect whatever the night threw at her.

Barely five minutes after being brutally awoken, Hermione led the two of them out one of the doors on the ship's portside and into the cold, salty air. Not knowing what the reason for coming outside had been, they were a little lost as to where exactly to go. Taking into account that it had been Daphne who had awoken them, Hermione simply concluded to try it with the girl's favourite spot first.

They did indeed find the rest of the _Gwyneth's _crew arrayed on the otherwise empty foredeck, all of them staring up into the sky; following their example, Hermione finally saw what the reason for the interruption to their rest had been.

On the clear night's sky, bands of sickly green light were lazily weaving their way through the blackness, their contorted forms ever shifting. It was something she had been hoping, but had not actually expected to see; even as far north as Iceland, aurora borealis was not a common occurrence, and with how cloudy the sky tended to be, even if they showed up, they were often hidden behind a curtain of grey. Completely enraptured as she was with the spectacle of nature unfurling before her eyes, Hermione almost missed the tension that had crept into Harry's posture, the arm he had around her.

Almost.

"Hey, what is it?" she asked her boyfriend, whose eyes were darting around furtively, almost as if he was waiting for an attack to happen. Now captivated by something other than the beautiful northern lights criss-crossing the sky, Hermione pulled the glove off her right hand and lifted it towards Harry's face. The moment she touched him, he jerked a little, before finding her with his eyes and easing his cheek into the comfort of her fingers. "Come on, talk to me," she almost pleaded. It might have been a bit beneath her, or maybe it wasn't, but she had seen Harry look like this before; it rarely indicated he would be open about what was troubling him.

"It…" he began, only to pause immediately and take a shuddering breath, before he continued, almost whispering, "What spell does that colour remind you of?"

Suddenly, the haunted look marring her Harry's face made sense; it might not have occurred to her, but yes, this normally breathtakingly, hauntingly beautiful piece of nature unfurling before their very eyes had a colour disturbingly similar to that of the Killing Curse. And the last time Harry had seen one of those…

Now, it was Hermione's turn to shudder. Looking at things honestly, she could see that Harry had probably never really dealt with that night. To be even more honest, neither had she. The thought of losing him and what they had was one hard to grapple with. It was not even the dying part that was really scary, actually, at least not to Hermione; no, it was the idea of not having lived properly before that was, and it was something they would have to deal with at some point. For now, though, they would have to get out of the situation, first.

"Hey, we're going back inside," she told the others quietly, and with a meaningful look at Martin she added, "The colour of those lights doesn't exactly dredge up good memories."

So, only minutes after getting outside, Hermione lead a numbly following Harry into their shared bedroom. She divested her boyfriend of his clothing up until the layer of his long johns and vest, maneuvered him back to bed and did the same for herself, before joining him under the still warm covers.

"I was looking forward to dying, Hermione," Harry suddenly started talking, and just as shocking as his words was the tone of voice with which he delivered them. Low, breathless, laced with incredible guilt. Sensing that her input was neither required nor welcome, she simply cuddled up to him and smoothed over his hairs in a calming gesture. "I was looking forward to dying, to leaving everything behind," he went on, his voice now a bit stronger, even if there was an audible frog in his throat. "I left you behind, abandoned you, abandoned everything we have now."

The hand that was caressing his face went a little wet with the tears now escaping from his tightly closed eyes. No longer able to bare not saying anything, Hermione tried soothing him, "It's not like you really had a choice. Voldemort would have kept coming back, and you never had enough time to ponder anything different."

"But I should not have been looking forward to it!" Harry lashed out angrily, followed by full-on sobbing. Trying her very best to not be hurt by her boyfriend's anger, Hermione simply scooted up on the bed a little, pulled his shaking head against her chest and let him cry.

"Oh Harry…"

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hi all,

It's a shorter one, I know, but it was a ready-made end.

I am of course neither endorsing nor vilifying suicide. However, if you do find yourself dealing with feelings like these, or the wish to commit suicide, please seek help. Nearly every western country has some sort of hotline for suicide prevention, please use it. And yes, I know Harry isn't the classical case of suicide, but just to be on the safe side; as you can see with our dear protagonist in this tale, things can turn around.

Hoping that this AN was completely unrequired for you all,

alexandertheII


	46. Chapter 46: Emotion Talks

**Chapter 46: Emotion Talks**

The morning after they had enjoyed the spectacle that was the aurora borealis, Sirius awoke late. He, Daphne and Martin had stood or sat on the foredeck for almost two hours, intermittently looking up and talking to each other in hushed voices; no one had been willing to break the spell by daring to make a loud sound. Of course, the whole experience had been a bit marred by the pup's spell of bad memories, and Sirius could hardly blame Harry for it. No, with the idea planted in his head, the northern lights had indeed looked disturbingly like the killing curse. In the end, the only reason Sirius had not gone to look for his godson had been the girl by his side. If anyone could help Harry in this, it would be Hermione. And if that put undue burden on her, well, they seemed to have helping each other out of stuff down to a t.

Forcefully exhaling, Sirius pushed himself up and away from the comfortable bedding (he still wasn't really used to luxuries like a bed, again) and planted his two feet firmly on the ground. As magic had a way of doing, it had provided him with a more comfortable experience of living on a ship than he really had any right to expect; instead of solid steel, his floor was a warm cherry wood, and the walls at least looked like they were covered in a dark red wallpaper. Something they had not dared doing was using space-extension charms on any of the rooms on the ship, unable as they were to predict what it would do to the _Gwyneth's _stability in the water.

Next to the door leading onto the hall was the other piece of furniture in the room that was explicitly designed for sleeping, as well as a constant threat to his being taken seriously on board the ship; the dog bed Sirius had placed in his room served as his refuge in a way. Whenever he had a particularly nasty nightmare of his time in Azkaban, or the guilt he felt over the death of Harry's parents, Padfoot would simply curl up in the well-worn piece of fabric and weather the storm there. Just like it had under the influence of the Dementors, being in dog form somehow helped keep a few of these emotions in check.

Fancying the idea of a change in perspective, the marauder willed his body to change the way he had done so many times before, and before he knew it, the environment had changed tone. Unfortunately, the colour he had chosen for his walls really did not translate well into 'dog-vision', as Sirius called it, with the usually pleasing colour now a dirty yellow. Alas, since everything was also a bit blurry, compared to his human eyes, he had gathered dogs simply perceived the world differently. Nowhere was that more apparent than in the smells wafting through even the closed door. There was the smell of the sea, as much was a given, but there were even more, usually undiscernible to a human.

Harry and Hermione were already familiar enough for him to pick them out from all the others, and Sirius believed he could also smell Daphne. That would make the other human he could smell Martin Connor. Vowing to familiarise himself with that particular human's smell a little more, Padfoot climbed up the door with his fore legs and pushed down the lever that kept it locked. With a surprising amount of grace for an animal the size of a grim, if he did say so himself, the dog jumped away from the now unlocked door and pushed it open with his snout.

Now on the corridor, the fine nose was able to sniff out more, distinctly recognisable smells; considering one of them was waffles, and another tee, Padfoot followed the trail to the ship's mess, only to promptly run into the two legs of what smelled like Hermione.

"Oh no," she scolded, eliciting a slight whimper from the exploring dog; whether he was scared or trying to elicit sympathy, Sirius would not be inclined to share. "We said no Padfoot at the table when you ruined Fopey's delicious soup; you just get hair everywhere."

Listening to her, admittedly reasonable remarks, he inclined his head to the side, trying to give her the puppy-eye look. He could have guessed it would not work. Instead of falling to his undeniable charm, Hermione simply raised a single eyebrow, somehow managing to put a lot of meaning into a gesture that small. However, there was also the shadow of an idea flitting over her face, and with a resigned sigh, she gestured her head over to the table.

The pup, the Harry-pup that is, was sitting at the table, morosely picking at what looked like a half-eaten English breakfast (maybe Padfoot could nick the kippers), looking to be a thousand miles away. With a renewed whimper, the dog swished over to his godson, butted the boy's/man's leg with the nose and proceeded to rest his head on said leg.

"Morning Sirius," Harry greeted his godfather, sounding like he had been having everything but that. Still, and Padfoot was proud of himself for achieving this reaction, simply by his canine appearance, a small smile managed to sneak back onto that morose face. He barked a bit, hoping his godson would catch the drift. "You want the kippers, don't you?" Harry laughed, evoking the same reaction in Sirius. The whole thing became even better, when he indeed did take one of the sausages from his plate and held it in snatchable range. After another bark, the animagus did exactly that, and proceeded to race out of the room; it would not do for anyone to steal his meal, after all.

As Padfoot sped past the pup's girlfriend, he just managed to make out a "Good boy!" before he was gone from hearing range.

OOOOOOOO

Inside a high, rickety house in Devon, a pair of red-haired twins were being interrogated by their mother.

"Mom, we really don't feel comfortable with this," George repeated what his more outgoing brother had said earlier. "Harry is, well maybe not a friend, but we like him. Why do you want to know about him?"

Molly seemed a bit flustered at her sons' disregard for her clearly stated wish; honestly, as far as George was concerned, she should already have been used to them rebutting her wishes by now. "I don't really see, why you need to know all that stuff, either," Fred butted in again; his twin was clearly out of his comfort zone as well, both of them seldomly having such a frank discussion with anyone, let alone their mother. "Also, you're just encouraging Ginny more. Granted, she doesn't freeze up anymore, when Harry looks at her, but she's still pining just as much; Ron's not helping matters either, with his constant belligerence."

For a few moments, their mother looked thoughtful, before an interested gleam appeared in her eyes. "So, you're saying Ginny is getting along better, now?" she inquired, studiously disregarding everything else that had been said. "She's making friends now, maybe even with Harry?"

Fred just snorted in annoyance now, giving George the window to answer. "Yes, she's making friends, and no, not with Harry. Why is that important, anyway?"

"Oh, not really important," Molly rushed, none too believably. "I just thought it might be good for her, getting to know the boy, before…" Immediately, she cut herself off, with a 'Gryffindor in front of a raging Snape' look. "I meant to say, I think it would be good for her to see the boy behind the legend."

George gave a little glance to his brother, trying to discern how much he thought their mother was trying to pull the wool over their eyes, before he answered in a deliberate, measured tone that he felt very much not at home with. "Well," he began, before entering into an artistic pause. "If that's what you would like to happen, it's not working. She's still as infatuated with 'The-Boy-who-Lived' as she has been. It's as if the real Harry doesn't even exist to her, and she doesn't seem interested in getting to know the real Harry."

"_Honestly_," Fred weighed in, putting a well-known emphasis on the word, "I would rather expect Ginny to get to know Hermione much sooner, if she ever tried anything with Harry." That last pronunciation sent their mother's face into a deep frown. Obviously, Hermione had already come up before, probably with their little brother and his continued ranting about that troll-incident the year before. It would also explain why the view their mother had of the girl seemed none too positive.

"Ron told me about this Granger girl," she replied distastefully. "Bossy bookworm, right?" The inordinately pleased expression she wore now was utterly disconcerting to her two sons sitting in front of her. "She's muggleborn, is she not…"

His Weasley anger now stoked, Fred interjected hotly, "Yes she is; is there a problem with that?" Not waiting for an answer, he went on, "And by the way, it seems fitting that little Ronniekins would be telling you weird, made-up stuff about Hermione, because he's jealous. Just so you know, Hermione might be a bit bossy from time to time, but she's a great, very bright girl; I don't even know why 'bookworm' would be an insult, by the way. I have no idea what you're playing here, but I will have no part of it, and as long as Hermione is around it won't work." With that, he rose from his chair, stormed up the stairs and banged their door shut.

Turning his head from where he had watched his twin vanish, George looked his mother square in the face. "I don't know what you're playing at either, but from the way you're going about it, I too, don't want to be involved." In a brisk, if more measured pace, George made his way to the stairs, as well. On the first landing, he turned around once more. "What happened to you, mom?"

Finally back in their room, the twins distracted themselves with plans for their newest, most spectacular prank; alas, the peace that usually brought them both, it never came that day.

OOOOOOOO

Harry was tinkering with the unfinished magelight in his and Hermione's workshop, deep inside the ship, but his mind was not really there. Instead, his thoughts were in the last few moments of his way through the forest, remembering what he had thought, felt and, eventually, seen. Then, his remembrance would suddenly shift to his 'Dementor-gifted' memories of his parents' last stand. What linked those two experiences was that same, green light. And that consideration would bring up more memories of the same kind; there was Cedric being killed, students being murdered, lives being ended without end. Eventually, even other memories were being affected, as well. Instead of hitting Hermione with his purple flame-whip, Dolohov struck her with that same, green spell, instantly snuffing out the light in her bright, brown eyes.

Then there was Sirius.

And Tonks.

And suddenly, Harry was back on the grounds of Hogwarts; all around him was the debris from the battle, littering the courtyards where either spells or giants had thrown it. The smell of blood and fire was on the air like a heavy fog.

No, that was wrong… Sure there had been smoke, but no smell of blood, at least not that strong. There were other inconsistencies, too; the sky was all wrong, more of an autumn grey than anything else and some of the bodies lying around did not belong.

What was Dobby even doing…

"Harry," someone shook his shoulder, repeatedly and energetically. "Harry, wake up! You're just dreaming."

With an almighty shudder, he jolted up from the uncomfortable position in which he now found himself, lying hunched over his workshop table as he was. In front of him, a worried look on her face, stood Daphne, her dark hair a bit tousled for some reason.

"Sirius sent me down to check up on you," she said, keeping a concerned vigil over his state. "Hermione's looking for you on the upper decks, I volunteered to look here. What was that?"

Trying to calm himself, Harry drew a large breath of air, an action which had no chance of escaping Daphne's scrutiny. "What was that dream about, Harry?" she inquired, keeping her voice tactfully calm, although she could not help a bit of morbid curiosity seeping in. "Oh, don't kid yourself," the girl admonished, "How I knew you were dreaming? You kept muttering stuff in your sleep, and, oh yeah, you practically jumped to the ceiling when I woke you up."

Another breath followed the one Harry had already taken. "Let's just say I dreamed of some things from that last timeline I have no intention of reliving," he answered, trying his level best to make his tone add an implied 'Leave it be!' to the whole thing . However, he was also aware that Daphne was a sharp one, as Hermione had said, and had rightly been sorted into her house; she certainly had the guile and the perceptiveness needed to succeed.

"I will drop it, if that's what you want," she offered, almost letting Harry think he had been left off the hook, "But you know who won't let this go… Either you talk to me, or you let Hermione out-stubborn you into talking later."

With a resigned sigh, Harry began retelling the dream his friend had awoken him from; as the story progressed, he found himself talking about the whole thing more freely, mentioning how things had actually happened and not only how it had all played out in his dream. With each sentence, Daphne's face was visibly growing more and more ponderous and contemplative until, at the end of the story as far as Harry was willing to tell it, she was staring into an unfathomable distance.

"Hey, are you still with me?" he asked the still unwaveringly staring girl. "Daphne, you there?"

She shook herself a bit and turned her head to look him square in the face again. "Yeah, I was listening," she replied, still sounding far away. "I just… You and Hermione have been through a lot, but you're still good people. You never had to help me, or Neville for that matter. Many would probably have just left the country after being given the chance to rethink those decisions. So, whatever you're banging yourself up about, don't; there are people who have lost hope for far less, and you've earned a little leeway." With that, she turned around and headed for the door. However, having already crossed the threshold with one leg, Daphne turned around once more.

"I'll tell everyone I found and talked to you, but that you need some time alone," she said in parting. "If you want company, I'm sure you'll find someone willing to indulge you for a while."

And with a small, yet wicked smile, she was out of sight.

OOOOOOOO

That same evening, Harry and Hermione were cuddled up in their bed again, enjoying their shared warmth.

"Come on, I know you want to ask," Harry said, the declaration coming out a bit more gruffly than he had intended. "Just ask, or we'll never get to sleep."

As if a dam had been broken, Hermione started talking. "Are you feeling better now? I really should have seen this coming, what with the northern lights and all. What did you tell Daphne? Because she just came up, gave me a hug and told me you wanted to be alone for a bit…" here, she was interrupted by her boyfriend, who had foreseen having a problem with appropriately following her many questions and statements, should he let things run their course. She looked up abashedly, and nodded for him to begin, but not before she could finish with, "And don't give me any of that 'I'm fine' stuff. No one believes it."

In preparation, Harry drew a long breath (he seemed to be doing that a lot, these days) and laid out what he had told Daphne, prompting an astonished look on Hermione's face. "And yes, I am feeling better, by the way," he finished gently, while smoothing out the hair falling into her face.

Still visibly stunned, the girl lying in bed with him did not react for a while. When she finally did, it was with profound astonishment. "You didn't even tell Sirius about some of that stuff; I wouldn't even know about it, had I not been there for the most of it." Harry was not completely sure where what he did next came from, but some instinct was telling him that he was not the only person in need of reassurance in that moment.

"Oh yes, you would know. Because whatever else we might be, you're still my best friend," he stated firmly. "In that moment, when I started talking it just… it came out. Talking to Daphne was just easy, and talking about it with someone who is not you, who was not there, really helped put things into perspective"

He would have liked to tell Hermione more about their discussion, but somehow, Harry had the feeling Daphne had also revealed something important to him, something which he should not share. "I would really like to tell you, but I'm not sure how comfortable Daphne would be with it," he summarised his thoughts diplomatically; to a weird mix of surprise and relief, Hermione just nodded.

"That's okay, I'm glad you're feeling better," she replied, contentedly nestling her head deeper into his chest, right where the training MacGregor had them doing was starting to increase the amount of muscles she actually could nestle into. "Just so you know: I have every intention of making sure we have a future to look forward to this time around…"

With the last of her words already slurred, Hermione was soon silently snoring away on Harry's chest, who was looking down at her with a happy little smile. Yes, a future to look forward to would be great, although he doubted there would ever come a day where their need for and sense of justice would let them stop wanting to change the present.

And with that little smile still on his lips, Harry followed his girlfriend into sleep.

OOOOOOOO

The morning of Harry and Hermione's last day with Sirius and Daphne dawned brightly, or rather as brightly as dawn got under a perpetually cloudy sky. They awoke only minutes from each other, neither really knowing who had been first, and started dressing almost immediately. The last day of their break, well that was something to be used appropriately. Therefore, while Hermione was still futilely trying to tame her hair (she really should have known better, Harry mused), he went to awake/torture his godfather from his alcohol-ridden sleep.

However, to Harry's consternation and disappointment, the marauder was not to be found, in either of his two beds. Now properly intrigued, especially with the knowledge that, after a bender, Sirius would never leave bed early, he made his way to the mess. When he found no one there, as well, he was actually starting to get worried. Sure, the old dog might just have been shacking up with a woman for the night, as he was wont to do, but something rubbed Harry the wrong way. That was the moment when Hermione joined his lonely vigil next to the table.

"No chance getting this stuff under control," she grumbled, only half in jest. Knowing how much her bushy hair irked her sometimes, Harry was happy she was even half-joking, all things considered. "Where is everyone? Didn't you wake Sirius? And Martin?"

That was when it hit him; where indeed was Martin? Because, even when he and Sirius had been out the last time, the man had already been sitting on the bed in the hotel when they had found the two. Apparently, sleeping in did not come easy to the grizzled veteran of the seas.

"Morning you two," the bright voice of Daphne greeted them from the doorway, making both of them turn around in greeting, as well. "Where is everyone?" she repeated the same question Hermione had already asked before.

"I guess in some dingy hotel room again," the still very much bushy haired witch groaned. "You did put that tracking charm on Sirius, right?"

Harry just nodded in acknowledgement, before giving a huge sigh and drawing one of his wands. "It's only a directional charm, unfortunately. I did not have time to set up anything more elaborate. We'll have to follow the trail."

Lost as he was in his thoughts, he did not notice the witch creeping ever closer, before she poked him a bit; obviously, Hermione was in a playful mood this day. Not the most usual thing, if he was being honest. "Sightseeing," she proclaimed. "Daphne, we'll look for Sirius and call you when we find him, alright?"

The addressed witch nodded rather glumly, obviously either bummed she could not help in the search, or worried about Sirius; probably both, Harry decided. To not leave their friend hanging in limbo for too long, the young couple hastily gobbled down a few bites of breakfast, then got suited up for 'Mission: Runaway Marauder'.

OOOOOOOO

The sound of two apparitions filled an almost empty parking lot near Reykjavik's harbour; the two figures that appeared with that sound immediately worked to establish a perimeter with the practiced ease someone their age should not have. Satisfied that no one had seen them, Harry put his wand back into the holster he wore on the left arm, his peripheral view showing Hermione was doing the same. The low-powered 'notice-me-not' ward they had placed over their apparition point should they have need to quickly jump to Reykjavik was still in effect, even though its power was palpably diminished, and would not hold much longer.

The pull of the directional tracking charm Sirius had been 'offered' went to the southeast, away from the shoreline and into downtown Reykjavik. Always following that very same pull, they passed the Hallgrimskirkja, the university hospital and a good number of hotels, apartments and guest houses. After more than an hour, a good deal of anxiety and with seriously miffed feet, they arrived in front of yet another hospital.

The type of building, as well as the fact that the charm's pull was definitely getting extremely strong, as well as directed into this building, served as a strong reason for Harry to get somewhat frustrated. Next to him, without even waiting for confirmation that this was indeed the place they were looking for because of course it was, Hermione had already pulled out her mirror and was sneakily calling Daphne on it.

"In the hospital?" he could hear the worried voice of his friend all the way to where he was standing. "Don't move, I'm coming over. Can you make it so no one will notice an elf dropping me off? Thanks…"

And with that, the mirror was silent again, while Hermione's reminder of, "Don't forget to take the potion!" remained unheard. Having noticed her hurried expression, Harry quickly cast the necessary wards, and he had indeed barely finished, when one of the elves dropped off Daphne.

Giving neither Harry nor Hermione the time to protest, or say anything at all, she went for the entrance. What awaited them inside was what they expected of a hospital, really; or at least, it was what Harry and Hermione expected of a hospital. Because, if there was on thing that was immediately discernible, it was Daphne's feeling of not feeling at home here, at all. The smell of disinfectant, the weird sense of dress everyone must have been seeming to have, at least to someone who was not aware of the concept.

Yes, if you were only used to St. Mungo's and the Hogwarts Infirmary, a muggle ER probably was a somewhat daunting thing. On the other hand, witches and wizards, as far as Harry knew, had no problem with diseases spreading among their patients. With what Hermione had said, or rather had tried to say, earlier now all but forgotten, she stepped up to calm their clearly distraught friend, while Harry made for what looked like a counter.

"Excuse me," he greeted the woman sitting behind the desk, trying an endearing smile. "I'm looking for my godfather, Sirius Black." The nurse looked at him discerningly, almost as if trying to gauge whether he indeed was looking for Sirius Black, and not out to cause trouble in her domain. In a way, she reminded Harry of Madam Pomfrey.

Obviously happy about what she had seen, the woman grumbled a bit, before she turned to a big filing… thing, where she started pulling out files. "There we have you… Black," she finally declared, that hint of annoyance back in her voice. Back at the table she continued, "Mr. Black was brought here after an altercation and with clear signs of alcohol-consumption. We're keeping him on watch, but if nothing untoward happens, he'll be free to go before lunch. Room 103."

Considering their conversation clearly at its close given her tone of finality, Harry gathered up Hermione and Daphne and together, they made their way to Room 103, where the infamous Sirius Black was supposedly staying. However, what they found in that very room was neither infamous, nor was it in any way, shape or form famous. Instead, it was just a tad pitiful. Harry's godfather was indeed there, propped up on a hospital cushion (meaning that it looked neither new, nor comfortable), and he looked like he had had a rather bad night.

His eyes were halfway closed, or at least the one that was not swollen, was; over the other eye, an astonishing haematoma had formed, about the size of a fist, and in an angry black. At the startled cry of "Sirius!" emanating from Daphne, the man shuddered visibly, although whether that was due to being found out or a hangover, Harry was not completely certain.

That was also the moment the other person in that room chose to announce themselves; Martin Connor was sitting on an uncomfortable looking chair in one of the room's corners. "What happened?" Hermione inquired, her tone indicating everyone in the room had been asked and that there would be no escaping without an answer.

Still, it was indeed Martin who eventually did. "Well, let's say wizards and physical altercations don't mix well," giving the man lying in the bed a dubious look, he continued. "Well, hitting on the girlfriend of a burly Iceland native while being unable to do the one thing you rely on to defend yourself is one thing to make sure you can try out the local hospital culture."

Meanwhile, the one being discussed had started complaining about what he had endured at the hands of 'these crazy muggle healers', who had apparently tried to check him for brain injury by pointing a flashlight into his eyes. It was only when they returned to the ship for lunch, where Hermione immediately went around trying to convince the elves that helping Sirius was not on anyone's agenda, because he 'had to learn his lesson', that they noticed their mistake. Their incredibly stupid, dumb mistake; because Daphne had never taken the potion intended to mask her magical signature whenever she went out from under the Fidelius.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hi all,

Enjoy the new chapter, leave a review, the usual. Yawn.

Greetings to all of you, all over the world,

alexandertheII


	47. Chapter 47: Enlisting Assistance

**Chapter 47: Enlisting Assistance**

When Harry awoke on the morning of his and Hermione's return to school, it was to the surprisingly disappointing sensation of an empty bed; that tactile sensation was then immediately supplemented by an auditory one: Next to the cupboard, Hermione was noisily rummaging through what looked like her backpack. As Harry shot her a look, the young witch smiled back abashedly.

"Sorry, did I wake you up?" she asked silently, immediately perking up as soon as she saw the grin and shake of the head her boyfriend gave. "I'm just rechecking I have everything I wanted to take back with me," Hermione continued, now a bit more loudly. "All those books from the Black library looked so interesting… disturbing, but also interesting."

Harry very much agreed with her on that; the books Sirius had brought with him on the _Gwyneth_, after they had been thoroughly checked by a group of highly skilled and even more highly priced curse-breakers, were indeed quite fascinating. Most of them dealt with rather horrific magic, none of which any of them were keen to try out. Not because it was supposedly dark or anything (although many people would certainly ascribe that moniker to many of these books), but because it was just utterly unnecessary. Why waste your time, energy and very humanity on an Entrail-Expelling-Curse if the focused application of a different spell could take out an enemy just as well? Dealing as much pain as possible was definitely not a worthwhile goal, as far as Harry and Hermione were concerned.

Eventually, it all boiled down to the fact that neither of them was prepared to sink to the level of the Death Eaters, just for the minor tactical advantage of striking fear into their adversaries. And that was discounting what some of these adversaries were wont to do, if they ever felt backed into a corner.

Yet, even just knowing about the kind of magic employed by their enemies was sure to benefit them greatly, both in their training and in their efforts at creating defences. Additionally, there was a book on magical theory and spell creation that Hermione had started devouring the minute she had set eyes on it.

A few hours, and a lot of checking and rechecking on Hermione's part later, the two of them were ready for their return trip by house-elf apparition. Due to the distance involved, they each were assigned one of the elves travelling on the Gwyneth; that assignment had included the heated race of all the available elves to grab either one of their hands, and the first two had been awarded the honour. Harry was not exactly comfortable with it, but he did not have the heart to stop it, either. Because everyone who travelled had to be taken by an elf each, Sirius (under protests) was not accompanying them.

Now, with each of them having their hand taken by a very eager elf, Harry gave a short wink to Hermione, and with a 'poof', he was gone.

OOOOOOOO

Xavier Greengrass was getting increasingly worrisome to watch; at least that was the conclusion his daughter drew from doing exactly that. It was the day the Hogwarts students would be returning to school after their Easter Break, not that Astoria knew what the holiday was about, and the morosely-skittish mood her father had been in over the last few weeks had changed. After something important had happened the day before, the girl did not really know what it had been, he had first been creepily-excited, then disappointed and subdued.

However, none of these moods had held a candle to how he had been after returning from King's Cross, where he had gone 'to facilitate some connections'. No, when he had returned, Astoria's father had been livid, cruel, vindictive, and all the other things she sometimes found scary in him.

OOOOOOOO

Platform 9 ¾ was the usual ruckus of students, parents and pets that that Hermione had learned to expect, even if the whole thing was somewhat toned down by no one having large trunks and the fact that a good portion of the school's population had decided to simply stay put in Scotland. Still, among the many faces, she could see a good number of familiar ones; there was Augusta Longbottom, who gave a curt, friendly nod of acknowledgement at seeing them, there were Susan and her parents, and Tracey with her father and mother. Oddly enough, Xavier Greengrass was standing next to the Davis family.

"Harry, Hermione," she just managed to make out before she was being hugged by an unusually enthusiastic Tracey Davis. While her friend quickly moved on to her boyfriend, Hermione kept a keen eye on the Lord Greengrass; the way in which he was looking at her and Harry was disconcerting, to say the least.

"How was Iceland?" Tracey asked loudly, prompting an almost comical widening of Mr. Greengrass' eyes. To her big disappointment, Hermione was unable to dwell on what she had seen on account of the soon-to-be leaving Hogwarts Express. One thing was clear though: Xavier Greengrass would warrant watching.

OOOOOOOO

The very man Hermione had been worried about was sitting in his office after returning from the platform, silently fuming while staring at the tracking map he had procured at great cost to both his purse and the favours he was owed all over the wizarding world.

Iceland, Reykjavik. That was where, just the day before, a trace of Daphne, or rather her magical signature had appeared. At first, he had simply assumed the map was faulty, had even been prepared to demand back what he could of the price. Yet, with what that annoying half-blood friend of his daughter had blurted out (somehow, he just knew she had been part of the plot to take his daughter away), things suddenly made a lot more sense.

It seemed like Potter, probably with his mudblood's help, were indeed the ones who had taken Daphne away. With all of his efforts at tracking her failing, she probably was being held behind a Fidelius, so they had to be working with an older, more experienced wizard. Still, somehow, she had managed to escape, even if only for a short time.

Xavier was all too aware that, to have any chance of success, he would need allies, and strong ones at that. Considering Dumbledore might well have been the one to erect the Fidelius charm in the first place, after all the old man had always enjoyed playing puppeteer, pickings were slim. With a groan, he kneeled in front of the newly redirected floo, threw in a pinch of the sparkling powder and called, "Malfoy Manor." What followed was the familiar, yet still extremely disconcerting sensation a floo-call tended to cause; one part of the body being whisked away, while the rest stayed still. Just about managing not to cough up copious amounts of soot and ash, thereby cementing the humiliation the usual position one had to take for these calls entailed, he peered into the room before him.

What greeted him was the image of a deeply curtseying house-elf, dressed in a filthy pillowcase.

"Go and get your master, elf!" he barked at the snivelling creature, prompting it to quickly dash out of the room; they did train their servants well, these Malfoys, he had to admit.

"Xavier, a pleasure to see you," greeted the liquid voice of the Malfoy patriarch as the man entered the room, his elven servant on his heel. "Why don't you come through, I'm sure it is important." What was left unsaid, yet was also very well understood was the implied, _"It better be." _

"And you," Lucius turned to the elf, "Bring us tea and biscuits. Then you will go and punish yourself for not inviting Lord Greengrass through immediately."

Xavier just managed to make out the servile little creature's quivering nod, before he pulled his head out of the fire to proceed with navigating his whole body through.

"Lucius," he returned the greeting from earlier after dusting off. "I see you still run a tight ship with your servants." The man he had addressed just nodded genially.

"Good help is so hard to find, these days," he lamented. "Our old servant has recently been taken from us, and I'm afraid the new one is rather subpar. Still, what would you expect with people like Dumbledore in charge…" Xavier 'Mmmd' and 'Hmmd' at the appropriate times, the time-honoured tactics of the Wizengamot to express polite interest while not actually caring one iota being in good stead in this situation as well. "Yet, I have to assume you have not come to discuss the decline in house-elf quality, have you?" Lucius asked, startling Xavier from his thoughts.

"Indeed, I have not," he answered in earnest. "I have information on my daughter's whereabouts. She's being held by Potter, hidden away behind a Fidelius charm; Potter's mudblood is probably involved, too, Dumbledore might be as well."

His pale face taking on a contemplative expression, Lucius put his fingertips against each other and looked past them at the man opposite him. "What exactly do you expect me to do here, Xavier?" he asked, a sort of disinterested curiosity expressed in his countenance. "Cleaning up your family's mess is hardly my task; I will see our contract fulfilled, one way or another."

Knowing that 'another way' meant his other daughter, coupled with the expression now showing on his counterpart's face, Xavier could not help but shudder a little, at least internally. Lucius Malfoy might not have been a member of the Wizengamot himself, but it was an open secret that the influence of his gold reached far and included several people who were. No, running afoul of a Malfoy tended to be a bad idea.

"You are right, of course," he scampered a little, even though it made him sick to his stomach. "But as much as it pains me to admit, my younger daughter is a bit of a wild child; she might yet grow out of it, or she might not. In the end, I don't think it is a risk you'll be happy to take."

The Malfoy patriarch, who had been silently watching Xavier talk, had obviously arrived at something he liked, for he raised his hand for the Lord Greengrass to stop. "Assuming they've actually hidden her behind a Fidelius charm with the old muggle-lover's help, we have to either turn their secretkeeper, or we will have to drive a bargain." Looking at the wizard opposite him there was now a cruel fire burning in Lucius' eyes. "Listen closely, Xavier, and we might just achieve what you wish for."

OOOOOOOO

"We'll have to keep an eye on Xavier Greengrass," Hermione whispered, just loud enough so that Harry could hear it. "When Tracey started shouting about Iceland, he was suddenly _very _interested."

Harry nodded an acknowledgement with the implied addition that they would talk more about it when they were not seated at the dinner table. Despite not being able to talk about it, a myriad of possible safety measures started going through Harry's mind.

Considering most of their time was spent either at Hogwarts or behind some other, powerful wards, the biggest window of opportunity for any kind of attack was also the most inconvenient one. Either an outing to Diagon Alley, or the platform of the Hogwarts Express came to mind, and since the latter even had a reliable timetable, it was the perfect place for an ambush. MacGregor had taken an entire two-hour period out of their training to talk about ambushes, and it seemed these lessons were going to become relevant much earlier than anyone had expected.

With these decidedly unhappy thoughts going on in his head, Harry was an admittedly poor conversational partner that evening, but with Hermione in a contemplative mood as well, he hoped it would just be ascribed to them missing Iceland.

Still, even with all that thinking, Harry continued to hit the same, never-changing impasse: How would they be able to balance the very diverse issues of defending themselves, keeping innocents out of harm's way, not doing anything overtly illegal _and _not showing the entire world how much they could actually do?

As it turned out, Hermione had indeed been pondering the same issues, and come up just as empty.

"Portkeys," she offered, audibly not inherently convinced of her own idea.

"Illegal; we could probably get away with it for the moment, but it might become a problem later on," Harry countered. "We could just pick him off…"

"I don't think Xavier Greengrass would come alone, if he's even there himself. That man certainly has enough money to hire some goons to do the dirty work. That would make the whole thing an extended fight, and we're not ready for the whole wizarding world to know how good we actually are with our wands," Hermione rebutted. "Elves?"

As surprised as he was at Hermione coming up with that particular idea, Harry was still ready with an answer. "Would you rally want to endanger the elves?" he asked, very much aware what the answer would be, had he waited for it. "Also, every scenario in which we just leave might risk this thing evolving into a full-blown hostage situation; with all those kids around, we can't risk it."

For a whole, they both sat there, contemplating the situation. "Is it possible we're overreacting here?" Harry finally asked, out of a weird need to maybe, just _maybe_, have a way out of the conundrum.

Hermione shrugged in reply, a gesture she had adapted from her boyfriend, he now noticed. "Possible," she admitted. "I just saw him looking very interested, nothing less, but also nothing more." With an exasperated sigh, she continued, "However, we do have to keep in mind the price of being wrong in our assumptions, in either directions. On the one hand, if we wrongly assume Xavier Greengrass will try to pull something, the worst that happens is us coming up with possible ways to avoid an attack like this; on the other hand, if we wrongly assume he won't try something, we don't even know the consequences."

Again, they both fell silent for a while, mulling ideas over in their heads. It was Hermione who eventually broke that silence. "If we assume the worst, it would probably be either an attempt to abduct either one of us, possibly even both," she analysed, much more calmly than Harry felt. "I think we've grown too accustomed to Riddle's weirdly blunt style. Why exactly should someone attack the platform with a squad of goons when just sticking a portkey to someone is so much more subtle? It's not as if the illegal creation of a portkey is going to factor all that much, if it is used for abduction."

Seeing the wisdom of her assessment, Harry just nodded gravely, as he began contemplating the disturbing possibilities arising from his girlfriend's astute observation.

Honestly," Hermione smiled, obviously trying to bring just that small bit of levity into their conversation. "Even when he _tried _being subtle, it included four dragons, a large, silver cup, and an impersonated teacher."

OOOOOOOO

"Do you actually think he has a chance at this?" Narcissa asked her husband, whose face morphed into an ugly scowl at what she guessed was her audacity to dare and question him. "I know Draco was enthusiastic about the Greengrass girl…"

Lucius interrupted her with a scoff. "Don't come yammering to me about that useless boy; he has the entirety of my name and fortune behind him, and what does he squander it one? A petty, ridiculous feud with that little blood-traitor, Weasley. I want the Greengrass title for my family, and I will get it, whether through the older or the younger daughter is of no consequence."

The utter greed and anger visible on her husband's face were something Narcissa had by now grown accustomed to, but there was something else, too; the fear she had seen during their master's attack on their home.

"To be brutally honest," he continued, now looking directly at her instead of at the tumbler of Rosmerta's Finest, "I also don't much care, whether that idiot Greengrass is successful. If he is, I have Potter in my grasp without ever having lifted a finger; imagine handing the boy over to the Dark Lord. All he thinks we did wrong would be forgiven, we would be rewarded beyond measure. The Dark Lord showing up with Potter's corpse, that would be something the Ministry would never recover from."

A cruel smile now affixed on his pale face, Lucius added, almost as if as an afterthought. "Of course, that won't happen. Greengrass will fail, and then he will need somewhere to go. Think how grateful the Dark Lord will be for a gifted potioneer that we can send to help in his exile."

OOOOOOOO

The whirring a few steps away from Daphne was picking up again, telling her that her training session was far from over. The strange machine that had been placed, or rather bolted down, on the aft deck of the _Gwyneth _was something Maria had said the muggles use for an activity called clay pigeon shooting. For the life of her, the dark-haired witch had no idea what the little clay discs had to do with pigeons, but the shooting part seemed understandable in its naming, and the exercise was always interesting; wickedly hard, too, especially when the motion of the seas was a bit more… vigorous at any given time.

"Reducto," she incanted, as the first of the targets went flying, and it promptly erupted into a satisfying cloud of dust. Not bad, if she did say so herself; she seldomly hit the first one. For a few minutes, she did exactly that. Trying to hit the small discs was certainly challenging, and more often than not, her curse would go wide, if just by a few centimetres, but that only made the times she _did _hit all the more satisfying.

"Enough," she was interrupted by Sirius, the man who had taken over her education since Christmas and, after being pushed by her a little, had also started instructing her in what martial magic he knew. He pointed his wand at the small machine still spouting 'pigeons', halting the enchantments powering the thing and ending the whirring; now, the only sound left was the crashing of the waves.

"You're almost getting better," the man commented, grinning wickedly. "I will have to pull you away from gleefully ripping poor pigeons apart, though. The first recruit should arrive soon."

"I'll put on the glamours," Daphne replied, without having to be told to. She had insisted on being involved in as much as possible, Sirius had been adamant her identity be kept secret until the applicants had signed the proper and, more importantly, absolutely binding magical contracts. Therefore, within the minute, in Daphne's place stood an older teen with honey-blonde hair and blue eyes, her distinctive nose a bit broader, the skin gone from pale white to a much healthier-looking tan.

Within another minute, the two were joined by a middle-aged woman, the lime-green of her healer's robes violently clashing with the vibrant red of her hair, yet oddly complementing the freckled face.

"Please, excuse the delay, Mr. Black," she said, after thoroughly righting herself against both the after-effects of long-distance elf-apparition, as well as the rising sea. "I had a procedure, after which I had to change my attire."

With a simple shrug, Sirius dismissed the apology, instead choosing to hold out his hand in greeting. "No problem, we were here anyway," he joked, as she took his hand and gave it a shake.

"Linda Wright," the healer introduced herself. "Senior Healer on the ward for Dramatic and Traumatic Injuries, Dian Cecht Hospital."

Having shaken Sirius' hand, she moved over to Daphne. "Marie Anderson," the girl introduced herself with the fake-name she had thought of. "shall we go somewhere less… exposed?"

Receiving a nod from their guest, Daphne turned to lead the way, closely followed by Linda Wright, with Sirius traipsing in the back. "We will be sitting down in the ship's mess," she relayed their destination. "I am sure you are aware security is a big concern for us, so thank you for agreeing to meet under our conditions, extreme as they might have seemed."

Having reached the mess, the group sat down at one of the smaller tables, Daphne and Sirius opposite their visitor. "Healer Wright," Sirius began, "being aware that leaving here would entail being either obliviated or having signed a binding magical contract, what exactly convinced you to agree to this meeting?"

The woman on the opposite side of their table seemed to ponder her answer for a few moments, before she started talking with a sigh. "When Voldemort started really being aggressive the last time, I was just done with Hogwarts and had started my training as a healer. It was a scary time to be a muggleborn." She shrugged. "I have neither the skills nor the courage to be a fighter, but if he's still alive, something I have no doubt about, I want to help the only way I know I can."

To Daphne, everything she had said seemed genuine, meaning their guest was either a phenomenal liar, something that in and of itself would be respectable, as far as Daphne was concerned, or it was the truth. However, her instincts were tingling in a way that told the girl there was more to it than that, and it seemed she was not the only one to think so.

"You are aware, though," Sirius interceded, "that we can't provide much beyond room and board. Even the most idiotic Ministry bureaucrat would notice something was off, if we started pouring vast amounts of money into what would seem like a complete void."

The implied question of, "What exactly do you hope to gain?" was plainly detectable.

Apparently, the healer thought so as well, as she began talking more in that instant. "I once refused to bow in my healer's assessment to the pressures of a _very _wealthy donor," Wright told them. "They applied pressure at the right points, and I was perpetually screwed. I am grateful to my bosses for not firing me, mind you, but I am also stuck in a dead-end. There are not enough magical hospitals in Britain for someone holding a grudge to be unable to influence them all and getting your healer's certification accepted in other countries is next to impossible. But the things your company makes and sells, Mr. Black, seem to be both inventive and selling extremely well; so, after all this is done, and you have seen me at work, I want to work with Black Enterprises, and I want to invent things that make people's lives better."

It seemed Wright was not a gifted liar; either that, or she was such a gifted liar, that she would pretend to be a bad one in order to hide that she was a good one…

Regardless, Daphne approved of the excellent identification and then securing of an opportunity.

"I can't tell you anything definitive, obviously," Sirius replied, "for that I would have to talk to some other people, as well, but if you're as good as advertised, there should not be a problem with at least giving you a chance."

The newest member of… well, whatever they were, looked happy at that. "As for the formal part, this is the magical contract our recruits are expected to sign, to both our, as well as their safety. I assume Maria has informed you of the contents?"

"I have been told," came the solemn reply, before Linda was given a Black Inker to sign her name.

"Good then," Sirius declared joyfully. "How is your occlumency?"

"Non-existent," Wright admitted. "Is that a problem?"

"Somewhat," Daphne commented. "Until you are able to competently protect your knowledge from incursion, we can't risk you leaving the ship alone, if we want to be able to tell you everything you have to know."

The somewhat overwhelmed woman just nodded in acquiescence, looking like it was finally sinking in what exactly she had gotten involved with. "Whatever is necessary," she stated with conviction. "When can I begin to learn?"

"We'll need someone else here for that," the girl explained. "For now, let us show you around."

And that was exactly what they did; from the helm to the hangar, from the broom-deck to the sickbay they went.

"This will be your infirmary," Sirius informed their new healer. "We've left it completely bare, to be furnished by your instruction. There is also a potions lab on the lower decks. Anything we forgot?" The last part had been aimed at Daphne, along with a small wink.

"Oh yes," she sniggered back. "Let me reintroduce myself; Daphne Greengrass, pleased to meet you. Finite."

Now, they had finally managed to make the newbie speechless.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hi all,

Hope you enjoy the latest chapter; I'm busily writing during the time I am staying inside for security purposes and have a few chapters almost ready to publish. Nonetheless, I will not shorten my publishing intervals, so I can build up a bit of a buffer for times, where I may be unable to write as much.

As always, leave a review, enjoy your day and stay healthy,

alexandertheII


	48. Chapter 48: Forward unto Summer

**Chapter 48: Forward unto Summer**

The former Royal Navy ship was gently cruising through the waters of the Atlantic Ocean, generally southbound and away from the one place in the world with weather rainier than England; at least, that was how it had felt to Daphne. She was at her favourite spot on the _Gwyneth's _foredeck, clothed in what had by now become her standard attire of a warm coat over an outfit just as warm. Wind and water may have been a sight to see, and they had somehow never really lost their appeal, but they sure as hell could make a girl uncomfortably cold. In fact, the only time she ever wore something of a different design these days was, whenever the sea decided to throw stormy weather their way; even a warm coat could not keep you that way when it was wet. That was when the oilskin came out.

In the beginning, Daphne had tried to argue against the rather unflattering combination of long jacket and high-waist trousers, both brightly coloured and, as far as she was concerned, rather ridiculous looking. However, the first storm in which she had tried out a coat enchanted with an Impervius-charm had quickly reinforced the lesson that, while that particular charm might have been great for small objects or lesser powers, it did not hold a candle against the fury of the sea.

Long story short, Daphne had been drenched from head to toe, drawing a significant amount of ridicule from both Martin, which she was okay with, considering he had been the one to tell her to take the oilskin, and Sirius, who really had no leg to stand on, given that he was almost as drenched after refusing to wear the Sou'wester. They both had had to admit there was a reason these things were designed with function over form.

She was torn out of her reverie, when Linda Wright suddenly stepped up next to her, a speculative look on her face. For a good deal of time, neither of them said anything, until Daphne finally had enough of the uncomfortable silence.

"Is there something you wanted to talk about?" she asked the woman, who visibly relaxed at obviously not having to do the first step in whatever it was she was doing.

"Actually, there is," Wright admitted. "I'm having a hard time adapting to working with people involved in a kidnapping."

Daphne just about managed not to scoff derisively. "The law might say they are," she explained, "but believe me, they did anything but that. As far as I'm concerned, they saved my life."

The woman gave her a peculiar look. "They did you a favour by taking you away from your family?" she asked, obviously aghast at what she was hearing.

"Take me away!" the young, dark-haired witch almost roared. "They didn't take me away…"

"Well… that's what it said in the _Prophet_," Wright replied defensively, cooling Daphne down just a little bit.

"_It's okay, Daphne, she doesn't have all the information," _she reminded herself. "It appears you have bought into the propaganda of Lucius Malfoy. I assume you know, from your own experience, the lengths to which certain people will go for a little money or influence?"

The talented, yet spurned healer winced a little. "I'm all too familiar," came the expected answer.

"Well, after deciding that, in a second war against Voldemort, fence-sitting would not work as well as it did the first time around, my father had a brilliant idea, how he would be able to throw his lot in with the blood-bigots, without openly doing so," she narrated, absolutely calmly, completely composed. At least, to the outside world, because inside, Daphne was still fuming. "He thought it a would be a good idea to fulfil Lucius Malfoy's greatest wish by offering him the opportunity to have his son marry into a noble line, with me as the bargaining chip. Judging from your expression, you have heard of the Malfoys."

And indeed, if it were humanly possible, Wright's face would have been green. "I hadn't seen it that way," she admitted, just a tad shamefacedly. "They did write it in the article, of course, but it was just an afterthought, really."

"Oh, they're clever that way," the younger woman commented. "They don't tend to write all-out lies, yet just twist the truth enough to match what they want to write. Rest assured, even with the help I got, no one has 'taken' me away from my family; they managed to drive me away all by themselves."

They regarded each other silently for a while, each seemingly trying to find out what the other one was about. "Look," Daphne finally said, "you seem like a nice person, and I understand why you wanted to get out of your own life, but I won't stand for badmouthing the people who I am pretty sure saved me from a lifetime of misery. I was ready to run away, whether I got any help with it or not, but I am also sure that the only reason I was successful, and am not now promised to Draco Malfoy or frozen to death somewhere, are the people you just accused of being kidnappers.

She was already on the way to her room, or maybe the aft deck where she could practice her aim, when she turned around once more. "You wanted a new start, and I respect that. Please afford me the same."

OOOOOOOO

"Daphne, could I talk to you for a moment?" the very same person she had just that morning had heated words with, was abashedly sticking her head through the teen's door. Daphne just nodded noncommitally and waved Linda in. The raised eyebrow was enough to say that, this time around, she would not be the first to say something.

"First, I would like to apologise," her visitor began. "I accused your friends, my allies, of something heinous, without having all the facts straight; sorry for that." Daphne nodded genially at that; admittedly, she might have overreacted just a tad, herself. "Secondly, I have talked to Mr. Black, and he told me that you are still pursuing your schooling, right?"

"As far as it is possible, given the situation," the younger witch replied. "Sirius is quite able to relate some lessons in transfiguration, and he is passable in DADA, as well. History will always be better as a self-study, anyway, with that dustbin as the teacher, and charms is just about manageable, too. Potions is the only real problem."

The smile she was now receiving told her that problem might not be there much longer. "That's what I've come here to talk about," Wright replied. "Making potions might not be a central part of being a healer, but with the help of a good book, I should be able to last you until fifth year; at least, I could prevent you from blowing anything up."

Daphne mulled over the proposal a while yet found no real downside to it; as much as she wanted to stay angry, she did not have it in herself to do so. "Thank you, I would like that," she answered the unsaid question.

OOOOOOOO

"You could think it was our OWL year, not the second, with how much they have us do," Susan complained, bowed as she was over her potions essay; it was true, in a way. Since the return of Harry and Hermione to Snape's class after the tutor from Greengrass Elixirs simply had not turned up after the Easter Break, the dungeon bat had been extra-vindictive. Only problem was that, with Dumbledore looking over his shoulder from time to time, Harry's appreciation of Durmstrang's 'excellent martial magic program' probably still vivid in the old man's mind, the only way to bully the son of his hated schoolyard rival, was to bully all his students. In all honesty, it was not completely unexplored territory for the grumpy potions master.

"It's just a few more fingers," Hermione encouraged, as she was already happily scratching away at what was probably the one after the next piece of homework. "Then you can do charms; you like charms, don't you?"

The redhead just grumbled an annoyed acknowledgement, took up her Black Inker again and returned to the extended properties of valerian, especially in combination with lavender.

"I actually think it's not that bad," Neville surprised them all. "Don't get me wrong, Snape is still a bad teacher, and a horrible person to boot, but we finally learn a bit more about the mechanics of potions."

Hermione not reacting with a "'Professor' Snape" spoke bounds as to her perception of authorities, these days. Instead, she looked thoughtful for a while, as if pondering the implications of what Neville had said.

"so, instead of spending endless amounts of time thinking of more and more stupid tasks, he just gives us more complicated and instructional ones?" Tracey asked. "That's both good and really, really petty."

Harry could not help but agree. "Problem is, those that try to deal with the stuff all on their own, and don't really have the attitude or skill-set to understand the advanced stuff, might get really frustrated," he observed. "Then again, frustrating students is practically Snape's brand, as long as they're not in Slytherin."

Tracey answered that with a derisive snort. "Please, you know my opinion of the bat," she reminded. "He might let everything slide a Slytherin does, at least on the outside, but neither does that help us in life, nor is he that nice in private."

For a while, they all fell silent again, and only the scratching of their Black-brand pens was audible in the silence of the Room of Requirement. Harry was just about ready to finish up the charms essay, when Hannah started talking.

"Hey, Harry," she said a bit shily, not at all the usual straightforward girl. "You remember that family emergency my family had to deal with during last Christmas."

He did remember, if only darkly; something about Hannah's grandmother, if he wasn't mistaken. However, he was not so confident in that particular detail that he would say it out loud. Therefore, he just nodded for the blond Hufflepuff to continue.

"Well, my grandmother is getting worse, and my parents are going there soon, and they left me the choice to come with them or stay with Susan. I love gran, I really do, but the last time we were there, it was just so…" Apparently missing the words to describe what exactly it had been like, the normally lively girl shuddered a bit. "I know Susan's parents let her stay at Potter Castle, and I would like to, as well. If that's okay with you, of course."

It was okay with Harry, as much was clear, but the whole thing created a bit of a logistical problem for the old building. "Sure," he replied, before he had to immediately limit Hannah's enthusiasm. "It might get a bit crowded though. Tracey's also staying at the Castle."

Harry had already been resigned to having to sleep alone, particularly with Hermione spending the first part of her break with her parents, not that any of the parties involved liked it very much.

"We'll just have to bunk together, don't we," Susan joked, to no one's surprise really. Those two just were ridiculously close, after all.

"Well, in that case, you're of course welcome to join us as soon as Susan does," he said excitedly. Maybe, with Hannah and Susan as company, along with Daphne and Sirius, mind you, the beginning of the summer break would not be a complete loss, as he had been secretly dreading.

That very same feeling of dread had led him to an eerie observation, if he as being honest with himself; these days, he did not like it very much, whenever Hermione was out of sight. It had started small, with him being skittish after not seeing her for a while the last summer, but it had become more intense over the months. Nothing in the extreme, at least not yet, but it was worrying indeed. Somehow, his paranoid mind, and there was no doubt that he was becoming paranoid, was constantly on edge, with his girlfriend one of this edge's most important focal points; her importance was only rivalled by his godfather and by Daphne.

Those dark thoughts were vanished as soon as Harry felt himself being hugged by not one, but two enthusiastic Hufflepuffs, both obviously very happy with having found a nice place to stay for part of the holidays.

"It's nice you have worked that out," Hermione butted in, looking at the three amusedly, that amusement probably enhanced by her knowledge that Daphne would be present, as well. Not at the Castle, mind you, at the cave hideout. With the right potion, she would be able to join the others, which would make the whole thing a highlight, especially for Tracey. "But we should really be getting back to our essays."

Amused as he was by this glimpse into the 'good' old days, he knew Hermione was right; while the two of them might have been able to write their essays rather quickly (even with him taking a little more time, and Hermione double- and triple-checking everything she did), their friends were not as lucky. Therefore, the group soon moved on from potions to the much more enjoyable charms portion of their homework, where they were tasked with, once again, detailing the abilities and limitations of the General Counter-Spell. Well, at least it was an important spell.

"With how often he has us rehash this thing I do hope it will feature heavily in the exams," Neville groaned after another good half an hour of scratching away on the parchment, eliciting a snort from at least some of the people sitting there with him.

OOOOOOOO

On a dark ship, now back in British waters, a young, dark-haired witch was being tutored in potions by an older, red-haired one. With a teacher actually willing to teach the subject, Daphne found herself enjoying the experience quite a bit; add to that the opportunity to spend time with another female, and she was a happy witch indeed.

That calm and tranquillity, as far as those two words could be applied when talking about the process of brewing potions with someone who was still learning to do so involved, was interrupted by Sirius after only…

"_Oh, we've been doing this for two hours now!" _Daphne exclaimed internally. That was also when it came to her, why they would most likely been interrupted. "The new guy is coming in?" she asked, already aware of the most probable answer.

"You know it," Sirius winked, and was gone as quickly as he had appeared.

Linda watched with a sad smile as the girl started putting on the glamours that would once again call into existence 'Marie Anderson'. For a moment she looked like she wanted to say something, but obviously the healer decided to not act upon that impulse.

"So, do I look unlike me?" Daphne asked, receiving a nod in reply.

Thusly satisfied with her disguise, she left her potions tutor behind in the bowels of the _Gwyneth_, where they had decided she would stay until they knew this new recruit was ready to do what was needed to keep all the information he was being told completely safe. Owing to the unusually calm sea and sunny weather, what greeted the girl as she set foot on was an almost tranquil setting. The ship, painted in a dark grey, almost stood out like a sore thumb in the brightly illuminated, restful ocean.

"Who are we expecting?" she asked Sirius as she took the spot next to him, almost matching his shoulders in height; she always had been rather tall, and as a witch of thirteen years, was just about in the middle of her growth spurt.

"Young man," Sirius answered. "The profile Maria put together suggests him as a 'field operative', whatever the hell that is supposed to mean. The two of them waited for a few minutes, with the Marauder quizzing Daphne on her progress in potions, until there was the 'pop' of a house-elf appearing on the broom deck.

The young man the elf had deposited was, for all intents and purposes, completely average; average height, average weight (though he looked to be at least lightly muscled), brown hair, brown eyes, and a face that stood out in neither a positive, nor a negative way. Taking all that into account, he was almost ridiculously, unnaturally normal.

"William Wells," he greeted, holding out his hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Black. And you…"

"Marie Anderson," Daphne introduced herself, for the second time, with her fake-name. What followed was the same routine they had gone through with Linda, up to and including the 'interrogation' concerning their applicant's motives.

"Well, I'd like to think I've been given a really bad deal by the powers that be," he related to them. "Mom was thrown out of her rather traditional wizarding family for being a squib, married a muggle and, surprise surprise, her son is a wizard. Given that the opportunities offered to me are in about the tier of what the standard muggleborn could expect, with the added additional stigma of my mother's _unwellness_, I would make a juicy target for any Death Eater uprising; being with people actually preparing to fight them, not closing their eyes to it all, like Fudge is doing, sounds like the way to go."

However, what was surprising about this one in particular, was the reaction he had to Daphne revealing her real identity. After he had signed the contract, of course.

"I had hoped you had gotten away," the man commented. Obviously seeing the surprised looks on their faces, he explained. "I do read the paper, I'll have you know. Just, other than most people, I actually read between the lines. Believe me, I have met Lucius Malfoy, and I can't imagine his son being any better; so, if you ran away from being forced to marry that one, I'm not surprised."

For a few seconds, he seemed to ponder, whether he should say more; it seemed he wanted to, by what followed. "Reading between the lines is actually what brought me here," Wells continued. "When, in relation to Voldemort still being alive, the only thing you ever read from the Ministry is 'we're looking into that' and 'it is an area of concern', that stuff can leave you worried. I'm just hedging my bets, buying into what I think can be the winning side here, which is luckily the one I actually want to win."

Shortly stumped by the bluntness their newest member had just exhibited, Daphne and Sirius were silent for a while, watching the supremely calm, young wizard opposite them. "You are aware this whole thing might get you killed in the end, right?" the suddenly deadly serious animagus asked. "Because I don't get that feeling from you. You seem way too calm for that."

The first reaction was a despondent laugh. "Oh, I'm well aware of the danger of this whole endeavour," they were assured. "The thing is, I am not willing to accept the alternative. Any government backed by the blood-purists would have me be a second-class citizen, at best; even the current one acts that way, even though they are a lot more subtle than one under Voldemort would be. Still, staying in the magical world is infinitely more preferable to going back into the muggle world, where I have been effectively absent, ever since I went to an isolated boarding school in Scotland. Magical Britain lured me in with big promises of magic, while my parents were subtly threatened with the consequences of me not learning anything that would be at all useful were I ever to choose and leave magic behind."

Surprised, Daphne looked to Sirius for confirmation of what she had just been told; surely it was not that bad? Unfortunately, Sirius did indeed nod, even though it was so miniscule as to be almost unrecognisable.

"Just because there's not an official law that discourages people from giving muggleborns good jobs, we would have to ask a law-wizard, does not mean, they are not held back by some really bigoted circumstances," Wells continued his impassioned monologue. "Believe me, I've been there. I have no idea whether this all was set up by choice, but regardless of the intent, the end result is that you can be rather screwed."

Not really knowing how to answer to that, the two of them were quiet for a while; at least Sirius had seemed to know at least a bit about all of this, but for Daphne it had never been something she consciously thought about. And yet, in retrospect, she had also once been surprised about Hermione's talents, despite her 'lowly origins'. Did that already make her a bigot? It was really head-splitting to think about, that was for sure. She did not consider herself above anyone, certainly not Hermione, whom she had a lot to thank for.

The meeting ended, with Sirius offering to show around the new recruit and tell him, where everything was in more detail. All the while Daphne, still somewhat shaken by the last few things she had heard, returned to her room to munch everything over.

Unable to shake the small bout of shame at having thought about Hermione, her friend, the way she had, even if it was in rather general terms, she decided to tackle that issue first. Firstly, she was happy to take note of the fact that, without even knowing of that particular prejudice, she had gotten rid of it. Spending time with Hermione, even after knowing she had a good deal more time behind her belt than she immediately seemed to, would quickly disavow you of the notion that she was in any way, shape or form held back by her parents having no magic; whenever needed, secondary evidence in the form of one Weasley, one Malfoy and two apes by the names of Crabbe and Goyle was readily available in the Slytherin common room that supported the other side of the coin.

Secondly, and what was more important for the girl in that particular instance, was the realisation that she was not to blame for what she thought unconsciously; sure, there might exist a level of control over the conscious mind, but the impulses that came to you when you least expected them, those were beyond your control, and therefore, not your fault. However, Daphne also decided that she would hold herself accountable by the way in which she dealt with these impulses. That 'reading between the lines business' Wells had been talking of, suddenly sounded like one hell of a good idea, even if it meant reading between the lines of your own thoughts.

But boy, if starting to question a lot of stuff you have never questioned before did not make you tired.

OOOOOOOO

Harry watched again, as the enchantment he had been trying get running, if not very hard, for months now, failed again. However, this time it failed exactly the way he had wanted it to.

In his bid to create something akin to the crystal orbs lighting some of St. Mungo's, only better, he had repeatedly stumbled upon the problem of his creations releasing all of their energy in one single, extremely bright blast. He had actually been rather lucky to be wearing eye-protection the first time he had tried, and yet the afterimage had stayed for a good few minutes, anyway. Despite these apparent shortcomings, though, he had also stumbled upon a different use for this particular piece of enchantment, and he had again found it in muggle culture.

Remembering some TV thing he had once seen, Harry had thought of flashbangs, and how particularly useful they might be to bloodlessly end a dangerous situation. Granted, a loud boom and bright light would only buy you a few seconds of confusion against a wizard with even remote knowledge of healing spells, but as MacGregor was so fond of saying, a few seconds could mean a lifetime in combat. Since then, he had temporarily stopped working on reducing the one-time lighting effect of the marble-sized crystals, and instead opted to simply add a concussive wave of sound.

Judging by what little had penetrated the ear protection, fluffy and pink, for some reason, the things were insanely loud. There would certainly be a need for that very same protection for anyone who wanted to use these.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing in here," Hermione almost screamed from the door, through which she had just entered. Surprisingly, she did not look angry at all, prompting Harry to question, why exactly she was screaming in the first place. That was also the moment he remembered the pink, fluffy earmuffs.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing in here?" his girlfriend repeated herself, still screaming.

"You don't have to scream," Harry chuckled at her, prompting a raised eyebrow.

"What did you say? Speak up a bit," she continued to almost scream; at least, that was a reduction in volume.

"You're screaming! There's no need for that," he told her, now close to the very same volume.

Hermione looked at him weirdly, before putting her hands to her ears and shaking her head annoyedly. In that moment, Harry also got, what was going on; it seemed she had caught the tail-end of his latest test. Not the brunt of it, mind you, because that would have meant her eyes would be impaired, as well, but enough to tell Harry that, at least the noise part seemed to work.

With a flick of his wand, he cast the healing charm he had learned for just such a situation, enjoying the relieved look that action prompted on her face. "Thanks," Hermione smiled at him. "Now, do you want to tell me, what you were doing here?"

"Well," Harry began, "do you remember when you told me to look at the sequences that limit the power going into the enchantments." An eager nod was the response he received; of course, she would remember that. "It did not exactly work out all that great. Workable, but not great. However," with the last part, he made a grand gesture toward the small, unassuming construction lying on the dark ground of Slytherin's chamber. "I have decided, not to get frustrated with the project, and turn my knockbacks into an advantage. Ever seen one of these scenes in a military movie, where they try and storm someone's house?"

Hermione frowned for a moment, probably trying to find the connection between the seemingly unconnected topics he had incorporated into his sentence.

"You've made a stun grenade," she suddenly piped up, looking at the small thing quite astonished. "I hadn't even thought of that."

The tone of her voice told her she was just about to start scolding herself, for not having that idea. "Well, of course you did not," Harry reminded. "You haven't been working with this damn thing for months on end. Also, I intend to pull my own weight now, intellectually, so you might as well sit back and let me take care of this one."

Watching warily as his girlfriend got an amused gleam in her eyes, Harry failed to notice her taking out a roll of parchment from her bag. "In that case," she laughed, teasingly, "would you mind 'looking over' my defence essay?"

OOOOOOOO


	49. Chapter 49: Nosy Little Sister

**Chapter 49: Nosy Little Sister**

"This is starting to feel disturbingly familiar," Daphne commented, as she and Sirius were once again standing on the deck of the _Gwyneth_, awaiting the arrival of a person by way of elf. "How many is that now?"

"It's number nine," the dark-haired man responded, slightly glowering at his young charge. "And no one forces you to meet them here with me, every time."

The former Slytherin snorted a little in response, before raising an eyebrow in response. "And miss out on the funny look on their faces as soon as I remove the glamours? No way!" With a raised eyebrow she added, "And you lack any kind of subtlety. You can be sneaky, but not subtle. That's what I'm here for."

"Oh, I think you'll enjoy this one even more, in that case," the definitely amused marauder commented. "We needed a quartermaster, and we've managed to poach someone with the necessary qualifications from…" Here, he made an effectful pause that ended with a whine caused by a surprisingly strong fist to the arm. "…Greengrass Elixirs!"

Now, Daphne was suitably stumped; MacGregor had somehow managed to lure someone apparently valuable from her father's business? Knowing how far her father would go in ensuring his employees, at least the essential ones, were so well taken care of that they would never even think of leaving, that person had to have some strong, additional motives. After all, if one thing was clear about Xavier Greengrass, he usually had a keen hand for business, which included paying important staff enough for them to never want to leave. That understanding of business had been one of the few things in her lessons that she actually somewhat enjoyed, come to think of it.

"We should be careful with this one," she therefore noted, a tone of warning on her lips. "My father is not in the habit of letting valuable employees just up and leave; either he wanted them gone, which does not bode well for their qualifications, or they have some other reason to leave the company." With that possible threat established, not that she thought the father would actually send someone to spy on them, or that it mattered, considering the ironclad contract their recruits signed, Daphne still took extra care in applying her glamours.

"You want to give me the short version?" she asked Sirius, with her eyebrow arched questioningly again.

"Okay, Barton Cross, muggleborn wizard, excelled in potions and enchanting," he rattled down the points on his clipboard, the habit of having such a thing at all probably only there due to Hermione's creeping, good influence. "At Hogwarts, he excelled in potions, of course that was before the time of Snape, Runes and Arithmancy. Additionally, he left the magical world for a while to be something called a 'costume designer', according to Maria."

She mulled the information over for a while; yes, with those qualifications her father certainly would be interested in hiring the man, as much was certain. If a costume designer did, what Daphne thought it sounded like, it spoke of a certain skill in practical arts and crafts that many wizards tended to lack.

It was only moments into her considerations, when with the pop of a house-elf, a tall, thin and pale man with long, dark hair appeared on the deck. Daphne guessed that, had he been younger than the forty years she estimated him at, she would have called him handsome; as it stood, everyone over twenty-five was 'old' to the thirteen year-old witch.

The man made an elegant bow, first to the disguised girl, then to Sirius and shook both their hands, Daphne introducing herself as Marie Anderson, again. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Anderson. Shall we get to the specifics directly? Yes, I am aware I will have to sign a magically binding contract, so we should get that behind us as quickly as possible."

Momentarily stumped by the bluntness the man showed, neither Daphne nor Sirius were quick to react. In the end, it was the Marauder who first broke through his befuddlement, and bade the man inside, quickly leading the way to the mess.

"I will sign anything and everything," Cross quickly declared, once they were finally seated. "But, as I have made Professor MacGregor aware, I am at the moment not willing to discuss either my past, or my motivations for leaving my current life. Suffice it to say, I have valid reasons to want our _esteemed_ Dark Lord dead as a doornail."

Any attempts to get anything more out of their guest proved completely fruitless, so they finally just let him sign the parchment that would ensure he could not simply go blabbing, even if he continued to deny talking about his illusive past.

"Spiffy," the newest member of their group commented, once the ink on the contract had finally dried. "Now, might someone show me, where I will be working?"

OOOOOOOO

"Next time, I will insist on more thorough information for anyone wanting to join our little band of misfits," Sirius grumbled around half an hour later, as he joined Daphne in destroying clay pigeons. "He seems like a good one, don't get me wrong, but that man is…"

"…intense?" Daphne suggested. "Where did you leave him?"

"Armoury," the Marauder snorted in reply. "Wanted to get working on his workshop immediately, so I asked the elves to give him what he needs and hand over the leather."

For a few short minutes, nothing more was heard, but the sound of waves and disintegrating targets, while clay dust coated the water.

"How long?" Daphne finally broke that silence, even as Sirius pointed his wand at the machine to halt the enchantments that powered it in the absence of any electricity on the _Gwyneth_. Seeing his questioning look, she added, "For the armour."

Understanding showing in his eyes now, Sirius answered, "A few days for a first draft from normal leather, and the actual suits would 'depend on how exactly the end result will look'," adding completely unnecessary air-quotes to the last part.

Daphne considered the whole situation for a while, before becoming aware of a particular problem that had to do with both her, as well as two of her best friends. "What about Harry, Hermione and me?" Noticing the questioning look on Sirius' face, she elaborated. "We're all still growing, and any of the usual magic that could be used to make clothes adapt to that, at least a bit, won't stick on the basilisk leather. Hermione and I might stop growing in a few years, but Harry is both younger and a guy, so he grows for longer than us girls."

The man walking next to her seemed to ponder what she had said for a while, eventually commenting with a shrug that somewhat resembled what Harry would do in such a situation, and said, "Well, we have a lot of basilisk to go through, so I doubt a few additional suits of armour would tax our capabilities too much. We'll just have to make sure everyone is as trained up as they will be in the end."

With a pained expression he concluded, "Seems like it's time to start that exercise regimen."

OOOOOOOO

In the months following the Easter Break, time seemed to be flying by for Harry, Hermione and their friends at Hogwarts. With exams right around the corner, homework was getting increasingly worrisome in its amount, while the couple of young time-travellers was still quite occupied with the eventuality of an attack by Xavier Greengrass. Given her proficiency with arithmancy, a subject Harry knew about as much as he did about theoretical particle physics, meaning he had heard of the name and that it involved lots of letters that should rightly be numbers, Hermione had taken over the job of looking for a flaw in the magic that made up a portkey.

Meanwhile, he was concentrating on more mundane aspects of their preparations, having taken over as much as he could from Hermione; naturally, she would never allow him to lay a hand on her homework, but everything beyond that was fair game. That meant Harry had taken the latest sessions of the Defence Club alone and was diligently working away on finding new magic and spells that would allow them to somehow counter an attempted abduction, while remaining inconspicuous as far as their own abilities were concerned.

It was not an easy task.

However, at the very least, they had managed to arrange for a commanding presence of allies to be present on the platform, should the need arise; having been informed by Harry and Hermione in their first training session after their return to Hogwarts, MacGregor had 'graciously offered' to chaperone the drive back to London, while Sirius and one of the members of their secret organisation would be awaiting them. With Susan joining them, there was also a good chance not only her parents, but also her aunt would be there as well.

It was the week before the exams, when Harry finally heard the excited tapping of feet that usually preceded a long and convoluted explanation of what kind of amazing knowledge Hermione had just found or come up with. And indeed, only moments after hearing her feet on the floor of the chamber, Hermione came into view. Her hair was bushy as it had ever been, and overall, her appearance was a bit dishevelled, but that did nothing to banish the wide, happy grin on her face.

"I've finally got it," she declared happily, unceremoniously plopping down on his lap, for lack of an additional chair at the worktable. "I have a way to counter any attempt at abduction by portkey."

The happiness streaming out of his girlfriend was positively infectious, Harry decided, and he finally understood, how he must have been behaving after finally getting the duplicate of the Room going, the very same duplicate Sirius and the recruits were now using for physical exercise, if the supremely annoyed mirror calls were to be believed.

"Oh, you have, have you?" he replied, tongue in cheek. "Please, enlighten my small, little spirit with your genius."

A slight tinge of red spreading on her cheeks at either the playful teasing, or her own apparent enthusiasm, Hermione answered, "Well, it's far from perfect. See, countering a portkey is quite a bit harder than countering apparition, that's why there are no wards against it. I've only managed kind of a 'reverse portkey', anchoring you to the spot. In the end it comes down to power, which of the two is more highly charged."

Harry considered the solution for a while, finally understanding the small streak of annoyance he still seemed to pick up on from Hermione. It was a step in the right direction, that was for sure, but a universal way to stop portkeys from working would undoubtedly have been more useful in keeping downed enemies where they had been felled, instead of simply up and vanishing.

"We're going to have to wear even more enchanted stuff on or around us for this," the brilliant bookwork on his lap continued, "because, as this is a permutation of a portkey formed as an enchantment, it needs skin contact to work."

"That would probably be the least of our worries," he commented the last part. "Plenty of skin contact possible, even under muggle clothes and apart from all the stuff we are already wearing. Portkey amulet, holsters, watch. I swear, I feel naked when I don't have aa whole lot of stuff dangling around me, these days."

The laughter Hermione managed to press out at his attempt at hilarity seemed as forced as the very hilarity it had been a reaction to. "Not much more for us to do now, right?" she observed pensively, with Harry groaning in annoyed concordance. "I was thinking about some shield enchantments, like the ones the twins made for their DADA line, but there's no way I could get them ready in time."

They fell silent for a while, each of them seemingly munching on their own thoughts. "I hate this," Harry eventually grumbled. "Sitting around and having to wait for something to happen just sucks."

"Language, Harry."

"But it's true, isn't it," he overruled his girlfriend's admonishment over his language. "We can and will continue with our training, but that won't do us any good for any attack by Greengrass, unless we plan on revealing the entire extent of our abilities. Drumming up everyone we know would be suspicious as hell. The only thing we can prepare for are exams we already had before."

"But we didn't," Hermione suddenly interjected. Seeing the look, he was giving her, she explained, "We never sat our second-year exams, as you might remember. So, I say we continue studying, because we don't _really _know what is coming, right? Additionally, we still have the counselling sessions with MacGregor, those might be interesting as well."

Harry just grumbled a bit in response. Sure, they had ever really sat their second year exams, and the thought of what MacGregor might come up with to test their prowess after a year of her tutelage was both threatening and fascinating; yet, he could not really feel excited about the prospect of the early career counselling session. They might have been more to find out their interests and dole out advice on suitable electives, but given that Harry already had experience with two of the se electives, and he would be staying as far away from Muggle Studies as he possibly could, after what he had been told about the subject by Hermione, there was not a whole lot to talk about for him.

The two sat together for a while in a companionable silence, each of them with a copy of Hermione's enchantment for a reverse portkey in front of them, and Harry revelled in his girlfriend's riveted looks as he took to magically forming an amulet from his stock of crystals. Over the years since their return trip, he had gotten a lot of practice, after all. Still, the process remained a challenging one, because he could not actually change the shape of the crystal material beyond shaving off small pieces; any form of magical influence on the actual structure of the material had turned out to be a rather detrimental idea.

With a bit of work, he had two roughly sickle-sized circles of blue copper-sulphate crystals ready, which he inscribed with the, by now, incredibly familiar rune patterns that defended the material against degradation, be it through humidity, hear or anything less mundane.

"There, all done," he proclaimed, handing one of the two blanks over.

Hermione gave him a raised eyebrow in return. "And how are we supposed to wear these?" she questioned, her hands running around the circumference of the piece she had been given to indicate the lack of any kind of hook. "I am not sure how well the enchantments would tolerate a sticking charm, you know?"

Harry laughed, taking in her curious expression. He was well aware Hermione knew there was a deeper plan behind the current state of the pieces; old Harry might have overseen something like this, charging into the whole thing like an angry hippogriff, but life had given him some hard, if necessary lessons.

"I've been experimenting with metals," he relayed, although the simple word 'experimenting' hardly did his practice justice. "There are some spells that can be used to form metal that you can simply learn from a book, and some cold water readily available, should the need to soothe a burn wound arise." A somewhat smug grin now etched into his face, Harry finished, "I should be able to manage setting a stone in metal."

With that explanation out of the way, Harry pulled a small, rather used crucible from one of the multiple storage spaces and placed the piece of graphite on the plate he had made with one express purpose in mind: with a tap of his wand, the enchantments on the slab of granite began steadily levitating the pot around a foot high in the air. Next to it, he placed the same scales he used for potions, weighing up 92.5 grams of sparkling, silvery argentum, as well as 7.5 grams of copper. As all this was happening, Hermione was looking over his shoulders in apparent great interest.

"How did you manage to practice this without me noticing?" she asked as they waited for the enchanted crucible to sufficiently heat the mixture. "This is a lot of equipment to keep secret. I know I get a bit absent when I'm not reading, but it's not that bad, is it?"

Harry had the good graces to brush a little; beneath her honest question, he suspected he had heard a bit of hurt as well. "You still care very much about our friends doing good in school, so whenever you went to the library to help them with their essays, I could work in complete peace," he explained. "I would have told you, but… I just knew you would manage to work out that thing with the portkey, and I really wanted to measure up, I guess."

"Oh Harry," Hermione cooed, pulling him up to her, "You always measure up, as long as you do your best."

In what began as a comforting gesture, she just kept stroking his hair as they slowly made their way to one of the old sofas the Chamber was stacked with these days. They spent who knew how long, cuddling on that couch, until Hermione finally observed, "I think your metal is hot."

Without further ado, Harry went to work. A healthy distance removed from the liquid hot sterling silver alloy, he begun the now familiar movements for the spells he knew he needed. Following the gentle curve of his wand, the sludge that had started pooling on the molten alloy rose into the air, only to be quickly deposited in a ceramic container. With his raw material now sufficiently purified, Harry turned his attention to the as yet unfinished amulet, gently floating above another slab of stone, just like the one that was holding the crucible.

Another gentle wave of his wand produced a ball of molten, silver metal levitated next to the blue crystal. Now, even though he had to work diligently, as much was clear, time was also a factor; forcing any kind of change on cold metal was unlikely to reap the rewards he wanted.

Quickly, yet with all the cautiousness the ball of metal at over 1000°C demanded, a thin stream of the material left, and started winding itself around the slowly spinning piece of crystal. Over a good few rotations, what had started as a thin coating soon began to appear as a solid frame, enveloping the blank with a rim of silver, solid and slightly enclosing over the edges.

In short, something that to do without magic would be rather hard.

OOOOOOOO

"When your theoretical exam is done, you will leave the room and return at 10am," MacGregor instructed sharply. "Come late, and you fail the practical part. Get caught cheating, and you fail the whole exam. Do I make myself clear?"

A droning "Yes, Professor MacGregor!" later, all the second-year students picked up their various writing implements (carefully screened for cheating enchantments) and turned around the parchments with the written questions in front of them. Even with his first sight of the Defence exam, Harry could tell it was rather different from the usual Hogwarts Exams. Over the years he had gotten used to both essay style exams, as well as some short-answer exams, but nothing could have prepared him for this.

In an obvious effort to end her impressive stint as Defence teacher with a bang, so to speak, MacGregor had made exam sheets, many of them, each with a single short-answer question, and many with animated pictures of dark creatures or very few with either pictures or descriptions of curses. Impressed, and also rather intrigued, he took to the work with a zeal he had not expected, happily listening away to Hermione already scratching away at the next table.

At twenty to ten, Harry put his Black Inker down, staring at his last answer for a bit, before he decided looking over everything twice was most definitely enough. With a certain determination, the time-traveller raised his hand, as they had been instructed to do, if they were done before the allotted time, and his parchments was promptly rolled up before it magically floated over and onto the Professor's table.

The twenty minutes were barely enough to catch one's breath, though, and Harry soon found himself back in the room, alongside the entire class.

"I would like to conduct your practical examination in view of the rest of the class," the Professor announced for them all to hear. "I would rather you all allow your peers to watch, if that makes anyone uncomfortable, please say so and you will be last and after everyone else is gone. However, in return you will be asked to leave the room until it is your turn. Given that those going earlier will be at a slight disadvantage, I may be a bit more lenient in my grading."

Surprisingly, only two of their entire year turned MacGregor down on her bargain, instead choosing to leave the exam room until it was their turn.

"Very well, who will go first then? Any takers?" the professor asked the assembled second-years, who somehow managed to retreat in such a way that it was Harry who remained as the sole student still somewhat in the front. "Mr. Potter then, I couldn't have chosen better myself."

With little idea what would expect him as he did so, Harry took another step forward, silently taking note of the containment wards springing up behind him, shielding the other second years from a good deal of adverse spell effects; it had no chance of holding the Unforgivable Curses, of course, and even some of the higher level curses he and Hermione had been learning would probably shatter the protection, but that was not the kind of magic he was willing to use in front of children.

"What will happen now," the teacher explained as she strode up and down in front of Harry, "is that we will be targeting each other with spells. Only those we have dealt with during the past year, mind you. When Mr. Potter here is on the receiving end, he will be defending against what I have targeted him with; every successful counter-curse gives a full point, every dodge or shield a half point. I do not think I should have to explain what happens when I hit one of you with something you cannot dispel, nevertheless I will. When you are out of it, that is the end of your exam."

With the class too stunned to react in any way, she quickly turned to Harry, took up a rather aggressive stance and motioned for him to do the same. Harry positioned himself with his right arm and side toward the teacher, feet on a straight line, knees slightly bent. One of the wands Woodworm had made, still looking like the holly and phoenix feather one from Ollivander, was in his right hand, trained at the teacher as he waited for her to attack.

As he had expected, MacGregor started slow (although that was probably more for the benefit of the other students), with one of the more cumbersome, if also more easily dispelled attack spells they had learned during the year. He had just heard the professor intone the incantation, "Eclipsis!" when his eyesight was promptly taken away by what he knew to be two small contact lens style objects appearing just in front of, but not touching his eyes.

The spell really was more of a nuisance than anything else, if one knew how to deal with it, but Harry could freely admit that, had he not known what the spell did, he would probably be panicking right now. As he muttered the incantation to vanish the conjured objects, a rather easy thing to do, despite the reputation vanishment and conjuration enjoyed among the students, he struck back.

"Incarcerus!" he growled, watching ropes emerge from the tip of his wand and hurtle toward the teacher, who simply sliced them up with a lowly cutting spell, not even needing to resort to a curse at all. And so it went for a good five minutes, back and forth between them, as student and teacher traded spells, meant to incapacitate without harming your opponent (they were only in second year, after all), with not one spell either being dispelled or not hitting their mark in the first place.

"Stupefy!" MacGregor finally exclaimed, sending red light hurtling towards Harry with incredible speed and accuracy. He barely had the time to raise a steady shield, before the stunner hit the magical barrier with a resounding, gong-like tone. As she left her 'on-guard' position, the professor smiled at him, prompting him to relax as well. He was soon replaced by the next student, with his classmates now much more willing to go forward after having seen that nothing bad had happened to Harry.

Still, even with the entirety of the class now eager to get it over with, the whole thing was a gruellingly long ordeal, and he was only standing at the side-lines. Seeing MacGregor Dishing out and taking magic for literally hours on end (though not many spells actually managed to hit her) was definitely taking its toll. He would have felt bad for the fierce professor, had he not known this was a situation entirely of her own making. Eventually, the last of the students willing to be seen by others had finished the practical exam, which resulted in the class finally being released for lunch break.

True to the defence teacher's words, Harry had actually taken quite a bit out of watching the majority of his classmates fight; sure, these were just children, but a few distinct things had become apparent, nonetheless. Firstly, the aspect of pushing one's magical endurance was certainly even more important than he had made it out to be, what with a trained caster like Maria being able to trade even low-level spells for hours on end. Secondly, and more importantly, magical combat was intensely predictable. While grown-up wizards might have had a few more tricks up their sleeves, it had been rather easy to recognise the few distinct styles MacGregor had taught them of. Now, only one question remained: How to best break out of the usual ruckus and do something truly new none of their enemies would be expecting?

OOOOOOOO

Tori threw her dress a dark scowl.

No, that was not completely accurate. She was not scowling at the dress, more at the lack of dress at her right knee. Why had the damn thing decided to fail in exactly the wrong moment? Of all the times for the enchantments to wear off, why had they had to wear out right when she was falling, admittedly very inelegantly, over that damn log?

She honestly could not care less about the way her rips hurt, really; yes, it would a bruise, and yes, her mother would probably berate her for getting hurt, but that was nothing new. That dress, though, was her favourite. It was just the right amount of flowing, short and light enough to allow for even her most daring feats of jumping around and making a mess of both herself and her environment. Her mother, or maybe one of the house elves, would surely be able to repair it, yet with the protective enchantments woven into the cloth at the time of manufacturing, it would just be a temporary measure.

While Astoria Greengrass might have been on board with the idea of wearing one of those 'jeans' she had heard about, she hardly thought her parents would find that attire suitable for 'a young lady'. Although…

Her father had been quite preoccupied with, she assumed, her missing sister, more and more so every day, actually. Even her mother had been getting distracted. Not the youngest Greengrass, though. No, Tori was utterly convinced by now that, wherever Daphne was now, it was where she _wanted _to be. All of their lives, her big sister had been someone she looked up to, at least most of the time, and she was always so strong.

So, with her parents suitably distracted, maybe it was time to sneak out for a bit; she had gathered that muggle money, after all, and how hard could blending in with them really be? The most complicated thing they had was… electricity, that was the word. Even that was supposed to still be rare, though she could ne t help but feel impressed at the muggles making something like this at all; lightning coming out of some generator thing, really, and without making at that.

Decision finally made, she snuck her way back into her family's manor, hoping against all odds that she would not be overheard by either of her parents. She was, after all, not supposed to have been outside. Tori could not help it, though; these things father had her learn were just so dreadfully _boring_.

In the end, it turned out she need not have worried.

"…really think Potter had some hand in this?" the voice of Cypress Greengrass wafted through the slightly ajar doors of her father's study. Now _that _was to interesting to just let pass.

"Yes, I'm sure," her father answered, voice gruff in the way he would usually get whenever she or Daphne asked some question more than once. "Even Dumbledore thought the boy was involved somehow…"

Xavier Greengrass never got to finish his sentence though, because he was interrupted rather rudely by his wife, an action that shocked his listening daughter more than just a little bit. "Oh please, don't tell me you believe that old wolf-in-a-sheep's-pelt. That one has more skeletons in his closet than even you know, and he always has some kind of side-agenda. I would not be surprised if he has something to gain by you planning to attack Potter. How do you know he's not keeping Daphne anywhere, wants to publicly cast aspersions against the boy and have you destroy yourself in an attempt at doing something before completely thinking it through?"

Admittedly, Astoria might not exactly have been informed of what was going on, but the conversation certainly sounded heated enough, and her father sounded very… agitated. Her mother, on the other hand, had sounded rather calm; it had been the kind of calm Tori long since recognised as a forced calmness, but calm, nonetheless.

"So, I'm not going to be able to discourage you from this foolhardy plan of yours?" Cypress asked. "You really want to try and attack the Potter boy in broad daylight, in full view of the entirety of the Hogwarts pupils, and try to abduct someone he is close to? Even if you're right, we'll be ruined."

Within a heartbeat, Tori was leaping silently away from the door, hearing her mother's steps closing in. Still, she just managed out Xavier's parting comment.

"No, we won't," he declared confidently. "As soon as the Dark Lord returns, the Malfoys will be the key to even greater success than we could ever imagine. And soon enough, they'll be family."

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hi all,

Recently, a few reviewers have complained about me losing myself in a side-plot. Normally, I would tell them to suck it up, so to speak, since I've not seen any really constructive criticism, and don't get me wrong, that is still my comment. Nonetheless, do not be alarmed, as this side-plot has a very important reason for being around and will be resolved in time.

Greetings,

alexandertheII


	50. Chapter 50: Collateral Damage

**Chapter 50: Collateral Damage**

It was earlier than she usually cared to get up on a weekend, but given her self-stated mission, Tori had a feeling that, whatever the story she would tell her parents, it was better if she was long gone before anyone began searching for her. Therefore, when she heard her parents rising for their breakfast, she used the window of opportunity that afforded her and snuck into her father's study, where the one floo access was located these days. Normally, she would have been annoyed by that; for the moment though, the added privacy was making things easier.

Garbed as she was in her most muggle-looking things, she had nicked some muggle magazine from her sister she must have gotten from her friend, Granger, Tori stepped into the emerald flames and loudly, clearly called, "Diagon Alley!"

With a small wave of warmth and a good deal of soot, the girl appeared in the flames of Tom's pub, happily noting the general chaos that tended to develop in the morning on weekends. Quickly, she left the fire behind (no sense staying there, only for someone else to land on her), and made her way through the exit into the muggle world, onto Charing Cross Road.

Slightly intimidated by the throngs of people moving along, the girl followed the map she had looked at earlier toward where she was positive, she would find Oxford Street. On her way, she noticed two things: there was a surprising amount of different languages being spoken, only a fraction of which she had the capacity to understand, or even point out which one it was. Secondly, she saw a few different stores already that would _probably _have what she was looking for, going from what they looked like. Nevertheless, she persisted; if she was going to be in trouble, she might as well truly make the best of it.

The shop assistants in the upscale-looking department store made rather big eyes, as they watched a pre-teen girl in old-fashioned clothes enter their place of work, as did that very same girl, seeing the price tags on some of the clothes, even in the kids section. It seemed as if she only had money for a single piece.

"They better be paying whoever makes these really well," the wayward Greengrass daughter muttered, glancing at the price tag hanging from the magnificent pair of jeans she was modelling for herself. In a huff, and with full knowledge that staying too long would probably garner unwanted attention, she slipped the piece of clothing back off, her own back on and set off toward the check-out desk. Asked for where her parents were, Tori made the most innocent puppy-eyes she could, before unabashedly lying about them being "the next door over."

All told, the whole escapade had lasted less than an hour, and she was already back in the _Leaky Cauldron_. Admittedly, that was exactly how it had been supposed to work, but in a way, she had hoped it would be a little more… exhilarating. Still, there was one last leg of her morning outing left. Almost reflexively, Tori grabbed her bag, suddenly afraid it could have gotten away in the meantime.

Inside of that bag was the missive for Daphne's friends. Inside of that bag was the letter for her sister.

A new urgency to her steps, the young girl followed a group of chattering, middle-aged wizards through the barrier onto Diagon Alley proper, where she set off toward the post office and their many, many owls. Within minutes, a sturdy-looking horned owl was winging its way northward, leaving behind a worried girl, who now had only one problem left: How to get home, without her parents noticing.

OOOOOOOO

It was during the morning owl rush that the unexpected happened: a brown, horned owl landed in front of Harry. Contact from outside Hogwarts was not unusual for Harry and Hermione these days, far from it actually, but most of the people that contacted them were either friends and family, who used the mirrors, or the still surprising number of boy-who-lived fans and congratulants, whose mail was redirected to Potter Castle, where the ever helpful elves sorted through it all, occasionally good-naturedly teasing him by giving an overview of the most embarrassing things that had been sent to him.

In short, there were few owls that actually reached him personally, which made this particular bird something out of the ordinary.

With as little fanfare as possible, Harry activated the enchantments on his glasses geared toward detecting less than friendly enchantments. Satisfied that the missive was, indeed, curse-free, as far as he was able to tell at least, the time-traveller freed the owl from its burden, fed them a piece of bacon, before watching the magnificent specimen wing its way outside.

With a decent amount of both trepidation and curiosity, he unrolled a bit of the parchment.

_Hello Harry_

_I don't know, if Daphne ever told you about me (though I sincerely hope so). I am Astoria Greengrass…_

Harry did not read further and quickly rerolled the letter, doing his best not to look around like he was startled; drawing attention was the last thing he could use right now.

"Hey, who wrote you?" Neville asked from across the table. Of course, he had to notice.

"Oh, some fan letter must have gotten through the redirection ward," Harry quickly made up what he thought was the most believable lie. "It's… not suited for nice company."

An impressive case of redness started to evolve on Neville's face as he probably imagined what that could mean. Meanwhile, Hermione looked a bit incensed; that was, until she caught Harry's eye, which obviously told her a different story. Now having something important to discuss, the couple finished their breakfasts, rose from the table, bid their friends farewell and made their way toward the girls' bathroom on the second floor.

"Oh, so this is Chamber of Secrets important?" Hermione guessed, receiving a nod in return.

"Possibly. Likely," Harry commented, unsure of what to think about the letter. It was not like he had ever talked to Astoria, after all. So why should she write to him?

One exhilarating pipe-ride later, the two hurriedly shuffled past the jacked-open inner door and into the well-lit, warm and clean chamber; oh, how things had changed. With nary another word between them, Harry sat down on the sofa, his girlfriend next to him, and unrolled the parchment, so they could both read what Daphne's sister had written.

_Hello Harry_

_I don't know, if Daphne ever told you about me (though I sincerely hope so). I am Astoria Greengrass and I'm Daphne's little sister. If you're like me, habitually curious, you're wondering, why I'm writing to you. That's rather easy: I'm worried because of my father._

_I don't know, whether Daphne is with you, even though it wouldn't surprise me with what she told me about you, but from what I've… overheard, I'm pretty sure that wherever she is now, it's because she wants to be there. Unfortunately, my father wants to think differently, and he has somehow convinced himself that you and your godfather have somehow abducted her. He even said, Dumbledore had given him that idea, so go figure._

_As far as I can tell, he wants to try something when you all come back on the Hogwarts Express._

_Now, again, I don't know if Daphne is with you, or you know where she is, and I don't want to know, so I can't harm her by accidentally telling on her, but if you have a way of talking to her would you please tell her something from me?_

_Hey Daph, wherever you are, I hope you're okay. I think I know, why you're gone, now, and I understand. Also, can I have your broom while you're gone?_

_Until we see each other again,_

_Your Sister, Tori_

_Be careful Harry, my father is not one to be underestimated._

_Astoria Greengrass_

Silence filled the room as they read, and it continued to do so while they both processed _what _they had read. On the one hand, it was weirdly comforting to know their assumption had been correct and Xavier was indeed planning something for their arrival on platform 9¾. On the other hand, this letter was a painful reminder that they had helped Daphne to not only flee a controlling, possibly abusive father (she had yet to open up to any of them concerning that) and a mother that, for all intents and purposes never seemed to have done a thing to talk her husband out of his more destructive ideas, they had also helped her leave behind a little sister, who obviously looked up to her.

In the end, the whole thing really had been a situation without any winners.

OOOOOOOO

The atmosphere in the compartment Harry and Hermione occupied for their trip back to London was tense, to say the least. Admittedly, they were the main reason for the weird mood, with themselves being the only ones completely in the know. Still, the others had naturally been forewarned to leave the train after the couple, and they had even come up with a believable reason as to why.

Despite all their preparations, Harry could not help but worry; less for himself and Hermione, to be honest, they knew hot to take care of themselves. No, he was more worried about those that did not have those same skills, those that had no idea something dangerous was about to happen. They could only hope Xavier Greengrass had enough sense to restrain himself, or his minions, to magic that would not do undue harm to anyone caught in the crossfire.

To banish these dark thoughts, Harry tried refocusing his attention on the happenings of Hogwarts just after the exams. In a way, it had been the usual; general merriment at having passed, or at least grudging happiness at not having to repeat them until a year later. Many students had been using what was for early summer in Scotland's Highlands to enjoy the grounds of the school or pay a game or two of Quidditch. On the other hand, one thing had been markedly different: all the Gryffindor second-year students had attended a counselling session with MacGregor. As he had expected, Harry had not been able o get a whole to of new out of the occasion, given that he pretty much already knew his immediate future. However, from all appearances, a good deal of second year students had taken her good advice in the spirit it had been offered. As far as Harry was able to tell, the number of students in Trelawney's Divination class was going to be markedly lower than in years prior, especially after the Lions had started spreading around the advice they had been given. In the end, though, nothing much had changed for him; he had still taken Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, just to get a better grip on the subjects with a more structured instruction.

Pressed for time as they were these days, Hermione had not tried taking all the electives again; they both had had their doubts Dumbledore would be as accommodating and get her a time-turner this time around.

These thoughts kept him occupied for the meagre amount of five minutes, and once those had passed, he was back to worrying.

OOOOOOOO

Astoria Greengrass was sitting on a windowsill overlooking the entrance hall, but far enough out of the way that her family usually did not think to look there. It belonged to one of the windows lining the gallery on the upper level of the atrium on the north side of the property. What that amounted to was that it was out of sight for the casual observer leaving or entering the manor, while also being clouded in shadow most of the time. However, the thing it also did, and the reason why she was there so much, was provide an incredibly good spot for listening in on and watching the goings-on on the lower floor.

The eleven-year old had really no idea how the day would go; it was not beyond her to know though that in some way things would be changing for her. She had taken a light, early dinner, supplied by Betty, the elf who had been caring for her from birth, and was now waiting for anything interesting to happen down there.

The younger of the two Greengrass daughters did not have to wait all that long, certainly not as long as she had had to a few times over the years, but she supposed it had to do with the fact that the Hogwarts Express followed a clear time-table. Even if you wanted to do something bad, you had to adhere to it, it seemed. Barely a half hour after she had begun her observation, Tori could watch as her father left the house in a mix of hurry, trying to be sneaky, and angry strutting; it would have been funny, had the situation been different. She was just about to leave, giving the whole thing up as a bust, when another set of steps announced itself. Much more furtively than her husband before her, Cypress Greengrass was stepping down the stairs and toward the main floo.

Tori had been living under this roof long enough to know why, if her father actually wanted to go to King's Cross, he would be unwilling to use the floo, even though it would have been a good deal less draining. The advantage apparition held over the floo network was the general inability of the authorities to trace it; had she not been convinced before that Xavier was up to something shady, she would have been now.

One question remained, though: What was her mother doing?

OOOOOOOO

Xavier Greengrass was silently waiting for the red steam engine to arrive, the train that would finally put his quarry in his sights. It had been incredibly easy to prepare all of this, really; he had only gotten himself one helper for the actual task, who was now disguised as the little sister of some mudblood tart, the mother of which he had disguised himself as. Being the owner of a major business in potions had its perks, including easy access to Polyjuice.

He could now hear the Hogwarts Express in the distance, delivering to him, finally, the opportunity to take vengeance on the one who had turned his daughter, his _legacy _against him.

He would show the little upstart his place.

Lucius had been right; if he was simply abducted, without anyone being the wiser as to who the culprit was, blame would fall on the vague notions of escaped supporters of the Dark Lord. It was not a good situation to find himself in for Lucius, but the Malfoy patriarch had assured Xavier he would manage.

Only thinking about it made a vengeful, cruel smirk appear on his face now; yes, he would take Potter with him, forcing the mudblood to bring him Daphne, and then he would take his daughter back, and force Potter to watch as he killed his uppity whore.

It was with grim satisfaction that he watched his two targets step onto the platform in the very front; fate wanted to make it easy for him, it seemed. Like planned, his goon, with the portkey already primed and ready, stumbled into the Potter boy and… nothing happened.

The already intense anger at being shown up by this upstart, again, mind you, was only compounded by the appearance of another person on the scene: His traitor of a wife positioned herself in front of the boy, seemingly talking to him at a rapid pace.

Now it all made sense.

_She _had turned Daphne against him

_She _wanted to destroy his legacy.

He should have known, never trusted the bitch; she had never truly submitted to him as she should have.

A red haze appeared over his field of view, and without really noticing, Xavier raised his wand, not even really sure who he wanted to kill in that moment, just that he wanted someone, _anyone_, to pay for this slight.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

He saw Potter going down, as did the mudblood and the traitorous bitch.

A flash of red enveloped him, and everything went black.

OOOOOOOO

Through the window of the Hogwarts Express, Harry watched the assembled parents on the platform. For once in his life, luck had obviously been on his side, and the train had had a very smooth ride all the way from Scotland, meaning they were a bit earlier than the schedule would prescribe for them and not all the people that would eventually show up, already had. There were a few people he recognised; of course, Sirius and some of the recruits MacGregor had drummed up, Amelia Bones and her sister-in-law and… Cypress Greengrass was rather obviously trying to not be seen in one of the less illuminated parts of the platform. Harry frowned a little.

"What is it?" Hermione asked; she had assumed his expression, he assumed.

He was not completely sure himself. "What did Daphne tell you about her mother?" he questioned, hoping to gain her unbiased opinion by inquiring before he told her of his observation.

Retrospectively, he had to admit he should have known better than to assume Hermione would not notice. "What is she doing here?" she exclaimed, if shout-whispering could even be called that. However, it was still the answer he had wanted; she was honestly shocked at Lady Greengrass' surprise appearance. "I did not get the feeling she would be involved in something like this, not the way Daphne talked about her. I'll keep an eye on her."

No more words were exchanged before the couple opened the cart door and stepped onto the platform.

"Oh, sorry," a small girl, she had to be at most ten and was probably there to pick up an older sibling, quickly mumbled as she stumbled into Harry from the side. For a brief moment, there was an expression of utter shock on her face when she looked at Harry, something he ascribed to the girl recognising that blasted scar. However, in his distraction, Daphne's mother had made her move and was now standing meekly in front of them.

"You have to leave," the frantic woman rattled off, clearly in a panic. "I don't know if you know anything about my daughter, and I know why she ran away, but if you know, please tell me, is she safe?" Without waiting for an answer, she simply continued. "You have to go, now. My husband… I don't know what he wants to do but…"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Cypress Greengrass never managed to say any more, or finish saying what she had started. With the hateful roar of a surprisingly female voice, the woman collapsed onto the stones she had just been standing on. Harry, his field of view filled with the green light of the Killing Curse, his ears filled with the incantation, threw himself onto Hermione and tore them both to the ground, hitting his head in the process. He could just make out the light of multiple stunners flying into the direction of a young woman dressed in muggle clothing, before his lights went out.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Bam bam bam…

As always, hope you liked it, let me know what you think.

Enjoy your day,

alexandertheII


	51. Chapter 51: Aftermath

**Chapter 51: Aftermath**

Amelia Bones was standing on platform 9¾ together with her sister-in-law, Mary, waiting for her niece to come home for the break. They were certainly an odd parenting team, Susan's parents and she, but they had learned not to question the whole thing after a while; it was just one of these things that had happened, one of the weird things going on around the first disappearance of Voldemort, and the murder of her other brother Edgar and his wife Alice. After all, Susan was happy with it, and who would they be to detract from the girl's happiness.

Out of the corner of her eye, the DMLE director was keeping a watch on what had to be the mother of a muggleborn student, given her way of dress; what threw the seasoned, if rather desk-bound, auror off, though, was the manner, in which this person held themselves. It was a way to stand and walk she usually associated with pureblood men, not muggle women. Of course, that was not enough to warrant any official inquiry, but it was enough to keep a close eye on whoever this person might be, as there was still the distinct possibility that this was just an unusually-mannered muggle woman.

Still with an eye on the suspicious person by the pillar, Amelia finally spotted the scarlet silhouette of the Hogwarts Express rolling into the station, a bit earlier than usual, and carrying her niece back to them, an event all of the older members of the Bones family had been looking forward to immensely. It seemed as if the person she had been watching was also rather excited about the arrival of the train, yet instead of the joyous elation one would expect from a parent welcoming back their child, their person only showed a vindictive fury; it was a face of utter madness that one eventually always saw when working in the DMLE. Quietly, so as not to disturb anyone, or worse yet, alarm whoever this was, Amelia drew her wand from the holster she wore strapped to her right arm, while also nudging Mary to show her what she had done. The innuendo was obviously understood, as the woman next to her immediately drew her own weapon, too.

When the Express finally did stop, the first to exit were Harry Potter and his best friend, or girlfriend, or whatever. From what Susan had told her, if these two were not already an item, they would be at some point. At some point, depending on the future choices her niece might make, she would probably lament the boy's unavailability, but that was a concern for (hopefully) much later.

Amelia was just starting to wonder, why exactly the other students were not following these two, or at least not with the same fervour that they usually would, when the part of her brain that was keeping an unconscious watch of the last Potter saw a rather flagrant case of accidental on-purpose stumbling on the part of the young girl that had come with the suspicious acting woman she had been watching earlier.

Now, that might just be a simple case of pickpocketing, or, given the target, something more malicious. Slipping and immediately activating a portkey was a proven form of kidnapping in their world. These thoughts were running through her, but were soon quashed by a female voice shouting, and loudly at that.

"AVADA KEDAVRA"

The woman Amelia had been suspicious of earlier, the one she was now sure was actually not herself, had just fired the Killing Curse in the general direction of Harry, Hermione and… was that Cypress Greengrass?

Within a fraction of a second, Amelia's wand was raised, the incantation of a stunner had shot through her mind, and her and her sister-in-law's curses were flying toward the unknown aggressor, who promptly dropped like a sack of potatoes. Obviously, Mary's reflexes had retained the same sharpness they had possessed during the last war.

Knowing how reluctant the wizarding public was to du anything even remotely approaching taking action, the DMLE director quickly took charge of the situation and began rounding up the parents already assemble on the platform.

"Please, place yourself in front of every door and keep the students inside," she half ordered, half requested of the assembled group that included Sirius Black, as well as a surprisingly large entourage that seemed to belong to him. "This is both DMLE business and nothing students should be seeing."

After making sure there was at least one adult at every exit, Amalia sighed deeply and pulled out the id she had been issued with when taking her office; a series of taps with her wand, as well as a note on the erasable surface inside detailing her location would have the station swarming with aurors and healers within minutes. Meanwhile, Amelia hurried over to the trio of prone forms on the ground next to one of the doors. She sincerely hoped, against all odds, that all of them were prone on the ground due to shock, although she herself was aware how unlikely that was. As callous as it sounded to herself, if someone had to be hit by the Killing Curse she hoped it had been either Cypress Greengrass or Harry Potter; the latter only under the provision that he had done the seemingly impossible again and somehow survived it. Any other outcome be that the Granger girl being killed, or Potter being hit without surviving, would eventually lead to Magical Britain loosing Harry Potter; that was something their society could not afford, at this point.

Checking the three bodies for their pulses, Amelia allowed herself a small sigh of guilty relief; both Potter and Granger were alive, although they were obviously unconscious. Cypress Greengrass was obviously deceased, her eyes wide in shock. It was in that moment that the platform reverberated in the cracks of apparition, and a whole group of aurors appeared out of thin air, quickly moving to create a safe-zone around their boss and the team of healers that followed on their heels. It was only now that Amalia saw that, in the commotion, someone had also taken out the 'little girl' that had tried the pickpocketing trick on Harry.

"Aurors Dawlish, Robards, Savage, Proudfoot," she barked, prompting the addressed officers to immediately cease whatever they had been doing before and pay attention to their boss. "A Killing Curse was fire by that person over there," she pointed to the one, "and this one tried a pickpocketing trick, or maybe slipping Potter here a portkey. Take them to lockup, they are to be watched at all times; I suspect Polyjuice, maybe Imperius."

The addressed aurors hurried to fulfil her demand, quickly binding the two suspects and disapparating to what she knew would be the DMLE detention block. With the perpetrators out of the way, she could finally devote her full attention to the victims in what had clearly been a rather cowardly attack.

Both Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger were now being tended to by the healers, but as she had suspected, Mrs. Greengrass was beyond help and had been covered in a crisp, white sheet. Amelia hated that sheet; every time it appeared, she got the feeling she had somehow failed in her duty.

Her aurors were now relieving the parents of their duty in keeping the students contained; as much as she hated it, these people would have to cut short the time spent with family, only taking their children home, before being questioned as to the events.

Oh, the bureaucracy that would entail.

OOOOOOOO

Amelia had been right: the amount of parchmentwork involved in questioning a whole train platform's worth of witnesses would fill entire rows of shelves, and filling it all out, much less reviewing it, would take dozens upon dozens of hours of work. For the moment though, she was excited and rather curious.

Just five minutes ago, she had received a memo informing her that she had been right in her suspicions regarding Polyjuice, and both of the suspects had indeed reverted to a rather different appearance. Having caught multiple stunners, Xavier Greengrass was still out of it, but his accomplice was already fully conscious, again. On her way down toward the lower levels of the Ministry, Amalia allowed herself a short moment to ponder the identity of who was now essentially a murderer. Being caught red-handed by the director of the DMLE using the Killing Curse was not something you could wiggle out of easily.

She had gotten a bad feeling from the man during her dealings with him when his daughter had gone missing; she had always gotten the impression that his priorities were off, like he wanted to ensure his own safety and standing more than he wanted his daughter to be safe. Still, this was way beyond anything she had expected.

"Mr. Fletcher, I had hoped not to see you again, so soon," she greeted the smelly, oily man as she entered the interrogation room. "You have been made aware of your rights under Ministry law and declined getting legal representation; is that correct?"

The shabby-looking wizard nodded gruffly, even though he looked rather unhappy with the the situation he now found himself in.

"Excellent," the DMLE director commented, meaning anything but that. Before continuing, she set up a sheet of parchment and her Dicta-Quill. "Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Bones, interrogating Mundungus Fletcher, as to his actions and whereabouts on the 18th of June 1993 around 4pm, as well as any matter pertaining to that."

At that point, she was interrupted by the man she was just about to question. "Oh, come one Amy," he said, sounding supremely sleezy in the way he delivered it. "No need to be that formal."

Not willing to tolerate this person for any longer than she had to, Amelia immediately cut to the chase. "Fletcher, cut it out. You were caught at a murder scene, where the DMLE director herself saw your accomplice use the Killing Curse, and with an unsanctioned portkey in your pocket," she clarified the circumstances for the slippery low-life. "I also know your tricks, by know. You tried to slip Potter that portkey. The only question now, is what you're going to be charged with. Somehow, I don't think the Wizengamot will be in a forgiving mood, what with the boy-who-lived being involved."

"Never told me he would kill anyone, the bloody madman," Mundungus suddenly blurted out. "Never signed up for any of that; I was just supposed to slip the boy the portkey and that was it. Greengrass thinks Potter somehow abducted his daughter, damn nutjob."

As much as she wanted to continue milking this suddenly and surprisingly open source of knowledge, Amelia was distracted by one of her people knocking and then entering the room. Waved closer by her, the male DMLE staffer whose name she currently could not recall (something like Barley, or maybe Barkley) whispered into her ear. "We found Greengrass' cell open and Dawlish unconscious; looks like Imperius."

A curse on her lips, Amelia stormed out of the room. She was just passing the door, when she turned around once more. "This time, Fletcher," she promised the man, who had far too often evaded justice, "you're going down, and not even Albus Dumbledore will be able to protect you."

OOOOOOOO

Sirius Black was facing a situation he had never wanted to find himself in. He was about to tell someone of great importance to him personally that something horrible had happened. He was well aware how Daphne had had her problems with her mother, beyond the woman's seeming passivity regarding her husband's plans involving his daughters. Nevertheless, he was absolutely certain that, no matter what, her situation was still vastly different than the one he had found himself in. Everyone who spent more than a miniscule amount of time with his own mother, and that included people who agreed with her ideologically, knew how much of a hateful shrew she was. Cypress Greengrass was something of a different story.

So, while he himself might not have been fazed by his own mother's passing, he was quite sure Daphne would be, and he had the unenviable duty of informing the girl. Even if Harry and Hermione had been able to leave St. Mungo's, which they were not to, on healer's orders, he would not have rolled it off onto them, No, he had taken the role of an authority figure in Daphne's life, it was his duty fulfil this unpleasant task.

Against all hope, he had been hoping Daphne would be asleep when he returned to the _Gwyneth_; alas, as could be expected, not only was she there, she was conveniently placed directly at the apparition/portkey-arrival point, obviously waiting for news on the outcome of her father's attack.

"Sirius, what happened? Why is no one answering their mirrors? Are Harry and Hermione okay?" he was immediately bombarded with questions upon arrival

He took a deep sigh, trying to come up with the courage to just tell her what had happened. "Harry and Hermione are okay. They're at St. Mungo's but just to be sure, both with a concussion," Sirius got the easy stuff out of the way first, knowing full well that Daphne would hardly be able to follow anything else after the bombshell he was about to drop. "But, for some reason…"

Another sigh escaped his lips, deepening the worry lines on Daphne's face. "For some reason your mother showed up there. When the portkey his partner tried to abduct Harry with didn't work, your father, he… he threw the Killing Curse."

He did not get much further. "No…" the ashen girl standing near the girl whispered. "No, no, no, no… He hit that other guy, his accomplice, right? Please tell me he didn't… Please…"

Unable to continue, Sirius took a large step forward and enveloped Daphne in a rare hug. At first it went unreciprocated, but quickly, her arms tightened around his form. Within minutes, he felt a dampness seep through his cloak where she was pressing her face into the rather heavy fabric. The worst part was that they would not be able to give Daphne the time to properly grieve, instead having to work toward the betterment of their situation, for both and her sister.

For the moment, though, he would just hold her, and comfort her.

OOOOOOOO

Harry, Hermione, Sirius and Daphne were assembled around the table in the ship's mess for a crisis council. Their usual seating arrangements had been altered a bit, allowing for the grieving girl to sit directly next to Harry, who held her shoulders in a tight, comforting grip.

"We'll have to do something about Astoria," Hermione reminded them all, trying to be mindful of Daphne's feelings by not being all that loud. "Her father and mother are… unavailable, there's no telling what some of the more ruthless people might want to use her situation for. Where is she now?"

"The Ministry does not really have any dedicated capacities to deal with children," Sirius answered. "For the moment she's staying with Madam Bones, but that's only temporary." The dark-haired man fell silent for a while, before turning his sights onto Daphne. "I would like to petition for guardianship for you and Astoria; this might not be the best moment to bring that up, but the earlier we get this started, the less messy it would get."

Within moments, Daphne had left behind her former spot right next to Harry and enveloped the Marauder in a tight hug.

"I guess you like the idea?" he speculated. "We'll have to get you back into the system, though."

They all made agreeable noises at that comment. "We've prepared for that," Hermione chimed in. "We have a bag ready that contains everything a runaway would need to survive without using a wand, while also staying undetected."

Sirius nodded, although his mobility was somewhat impaired with Daphne sitting on his lap. "How exactly do we make sure that any kind of custody battle goes in your favour?" Harry asked the question Hermione had been thinking. "Don't take it personally, but you're not exactly prime parenting material."

The discussed parenting material chuckled ruefully for a bit. "I might not like people like the Malfoys, Notts and Lestranges of our world very much," he informed them, "but I know how they think. Daphne," Sirius turned to the girl he still had enveloped in a hug, "did either of your parents…"

"I don't have parents…" she interrupted him with a stricken tone. "I only ever had a mother…"

The anguish visible on his face, Sirius began to rephrase the question. "Did any of your… relatives ever designate any godparents for you? How about Astoria? Does she have any close friends?"

Daphne shook her head. "Never trusted anyone enough," she mumbled, before returning to looking into the distance. "And Astoria was always more… solitary. She'll be happy wherever she goes, as long as there's something interesting to do."

Sirius began visibly pondering the situation he had been handed. "For the moment, we only have to convince Bones of this, and she will be satisfied with you telling her you want to stay with us because you already know Harry. The Wizengamot might overrule her later, though," he thought out loud. "As long as we destroy any interest Malfoy might have in you both, we should be in the clear, there; most members simply won't care, either way, and simply vote with whatever has already been set in place, if only just to make sure the session does not run long into lunch break."

A scoff could be heard at that. "Oh, please," Daphne mocked. "Malfoy won't care; if he adopts us, he won't be able to marry either of us to that… disgusting waste of space he calls a son."

There was an agreeable nod from Sirius; it was, however, paired with a look of caution. "That is mostly correct," he allowed. "But if he only takes over your guardianship, he could do whatever he pleases. No, you have to show that, whatever he does, he does not have anything to win by involving himself in your life."

The group pondered that for a moment. "We'd both have to make it clear that we would waive any kind of inheritance, right? That's the only way to become completely uninteresting," the girl on Sirius' lap observed.

Nodding was his only answer.

OOOOOOOO

_**Daphne Greengrass: Suddenly Unvanished**_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_Around the Holidays, a shock went through our peaceful society. I am talking, of course, of the sudden and unexpected disappearance of Daphne Greengrass, heiress to Xavier Greengrass and Greengrass Elixirs. Back then, a few key facts remained unknown, including the answer to the question, whether there was any ill intent involved in her disappearance_

_Now, according to sources within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, a few of these questions have been answered. In service to you, dear readers, the _Daily Prophet_ has acquired exclusive access to a number internal DMLE documents showing various details regarding the supposed abduction of the Greengrass heiress. According to testimony given by the girl herself after she had suddenly reappeared only yesterday, she was being pressured by her father, to agree to a betrothal with the young Mr. Malfoy, despite his awareness of the intense animosity between the two children._

"_Even for two bloody snakes, those two were mean with each other," young Runald Belsey (12), a housemate of theirs in Slytherin commented. Their documented mutual animosity would be enough to question the sanity of the adult parties involved, considering at least some tolerance would be required to sire the heirs to make it a fruitful marriage._

"_I find myself as shocked as everyone else," Lucius Malfoy, father of young Draco commented. "To think that a father would force his child into something like this, and even force the children into playing along is just… heinous."_

_In the posture of everyone involved, the shock still shows. As many of you, dear readers, will already know, also just yesterday, there was a regrettably fatal altercation on the platform for the Hogwarts Express where, at the time, some of the most vulnerable members of our society were brought into the crossfire. According to internal DMLE documents, the suspected perpetrator is none other than the aforementioned Xavier Greengrass who, in his preliminary interrogation, has admitted to attempted abduction, and was seen by many innocent eyes performing one of the most despicable acts the world over: the casting of one of the Unforgivable Curses on a fellow witch or wizard, the victim of his attack being none other than his own wife, whom he furiously accused of conspiring with Potter to have abducted his daughter._

"_Mad as a hatter, that one," a staffer from the DMLE, who wishes to remain anonymous, told us. "Utter madness, what he was spewing. We saw the Greengrass girl, she even had a tent with her. No sign of mental influence, no memory charms. Wherever she was, she wanted to be there."_

_In the end, there is little for us to ask further, other than, whether these two conflicted souls will, in the end, find each other, against all odds. Could we already be talking about the future Mrs. Daphne Malfoy?_

As everyone reached the end of the article, a loud slapping sound could be heard. The sound originated from 'the future Mrs. Daphne Malfoy', who had indeed slapped her hand on her face. To what end she had done it, nobody was really sure, but it did not seem as if anyone sitting around the table was blaming her, either.

"How did Malfoy manage to hijack _our _article?" Sirius complained, just a bit of a whine audible in his voice. "The beetle's supposed to be working for us…"

Hermione giggled a little in response; it was one of the first real sounds of happiness since they had all returned from King's Cross the day before, little wonder. They were all still rather shaken up, and none more than Daphne and Astoria, who had joined them that morning. The normally, at least according to Daphne, girl had immediately sussed out Harry as big brother material, how, he had no idea, and was now gently drooling on his shoulder.

"I don't know," the grief-stricken girl commented quietly, obviously careful not to wake her sister after what Amelia had described as a rather rough night. "Malfoy seems to be coming out of all of this a bit too squeaky-clean. Could he have been…"

It was not a train of thought Harry was willing to let her entertain for too long, lest she grab onto it too strongly. "Amelia said there was no sign of him being influenced in any way," he relayed what they had heard, while she had still been asleep. "They did not have any opportunity to extensively interrogate him, but the healers checked him over. Not to say old Luci did not wind him up and point him in our direction, but what he did was all his doing. He was checked over so quickly, everything would have shown up."

A sad frown on her face, Daphne burrowed even deeper in Sirius' shoulder. "Still, this thing reeks of Malfoy," Sirius observed. "It would also explain him so easily escaping the detention area. Lucius wouldn't want your father…"

"I don't have a father!"

"…Xavier," the animagus continued, "to spill whatever he knew, when that blonde eel was involved. I mean, how could anyone have hoped this would end well. But now, there's a slightly panicky Malfoy with a potions prodigy at his beck and call, something he might think would bring him back into his lord's good graces."

The whole group, minus Astoria, who was still soundly asleep with Harry as a pillow, pondered the idea. Most seemed to be judging it to be a disturbing possibility.

"Still seems rather far-fetched," Hermione, ever the voice of reason, interjected. "He could just have, and no offense to you Daphne, blown his gasket."

Sirius nodded, but he still had a last comment to make. "It is," he admitted. "I would just rather plan for some of the worse contingencies and then not have to use those plans, than be blindsided."

From a direction no one had expected any serious input, then came one of the most serious pronouncements of the evening. "Just no more playing around," Daphne half-pleaded, half-demanded. "We knew Xavier was planning something, but we just waited for it to happen, because we thought we had things in hand. No more. We go on the attack now, when the opposition is still fractured."

No one really had anything to say to that, except the one person who almost always had something to say about anything.

"Any problems with making dear Luci our first target?" Sirius asked, looking around innocently.

OOOOOOOO

AN: Hi all,

Sorry this took so long, I've been ravenously attacked by plot-bunnies, forcing me tp write some unrelated chapters.

As always, leave a review and enjoy your day,

alexandertheII


End file.
